^< 


THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


"  While,  high  ob  the  first  ware  that  nulled  ia.  was  s 
Ridin*  pntadly,  the  for*  of  the  aa»t7  Lorfiae^" 

P.SS6. 


THE 


INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS; 


OB, 


MIRTH  AND  MARVELS. 

BY 

RICHARD    HARRIS    BARHAM. 

[THOMAS  INGOLDSBY,  Esquike.] 


13  *■'>•' 


PHILADELPHIA : 
PORTER    &    COATES. 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


Richard  Harris  Barham,  a  celebrated  humorist,  better 
known  by  his  nom  de  plume  of  "  Thomas  Ingoklsby,"  was  born 
at  Canterbury,  December  6,  1788.  At  seven  years  of  age  he 
lost  his  father,  who  left  him  a  small  estate,  part  of  which  was 
the  manor  of  Tappington,  so  frequently  mentioned  in  the 
Legends.  At  nine  he  was  sent  to  St.  Paul's  school,  but  his 
studies  were  interrupted  by  an  accident  which  shattered  his 
arm  and  partially  crippled  it  for  life.  Thus  deprived  of  the 
power  of  bodily  activity,  he  became  a  great  reader  and  diligent 
student.  In  1807  he  entered  Brasenose  College,  Oxford,  in- 
tending at  first  to  study  for  the  profession  of  the  law.  Cir- 
cumstances, however,  induced  him  to  change  his  mind  and  to 
enter  the  church.  The  choice  seems  surprising,  for  he  had 
from  childhood  displayed  that  propensity  to  fun  in  the  form 
of  parody  and  punning  which  afterwards  made  him  a  reputa- 
tion. In  1813  he  jras  ordained  and  took  a  country  curacy;" 
he  married  in  the  following  year,  and  in  1821  removed  to 
London  on  obtaining  the  appointment  of  minor  canon  of  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral.  Three  years  later  he  became  one  of  the 
priests  in  ordinary  of  his  Majesty's  chapel  royal.  In  1826  he 
first  contributed  to  BlacJcivood^s  Magazine;  and  on  the  estab- 
lishment o±  Bentley's  Miscellany  in  1837  he  began  to  furnish 
the  series  of  grotesque  metrical  tales  known  as  The  Ingoklsby 
Legends.  These  became  very  popular,  were  published  in  a 
collected  fi)rm,  and  have  since  passed  through  numerous 
editions.     In  variety  and  whimsicality  of  rhymes  these  verses 

M97469  "" 


Vi  MEMOIR    OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

liave  hardly  a  rival  since  the  days  of  Hudibras.  But  beneath 
this  obvious  popular  quality  there  lies  a  store  of  solid  anti- 
quarian learning,  the  fruit  of  patient  enthusiastic  research  by 
the  light  of  the  midnight  lamp,  in  out-of-the-way  old  books, 
which  few  readers  who  laugh  over  his  pages  detect.  If  it 
vrere  of  any  avail  we  might  regret  that  a  more  active  faculty 
of  veneration  did  not  keep  him  from  writing  some  objection- 
able passages  of  the  Legends.  His  life  was  grave,  dignified, 
and  highly  honored.  His  sound  judgment  and  his  kind  heart 
made  him  the  trusted  counsellor,  the  valued  friend,  and  the 
frequent  peacemaker;  and  he  was  intolerant  of  all  that  was 
mean,  and  base,  and  false.  In  politics  he  was  a  Tory  of  the 
old  school;  yet  he  was  the  life-long  friend  of  the  liberal 
Sydney  Smith,  whom  in  many  respects  he  singularly  resem- 
bled. Theodore  Hook  was  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends. 
Mr.  Barham  was  a  contributor  to  the  Edinburgh  Review  and 
the  Literary  Gazette;  published  a  novel  in  three  volumes, 
entitled  My  Cousin  Nicholas;  and,  strange  to  tell,  wrote  nearly 
a  third  of  the  articles  in  Gorton's  Biographical  Dictionary. 
His  life  was  not  without  such  changes  and  sorrows  as  make 
men  grave.  He  had  nine  children,  and  six  of  them  died  in 
his  lifetime.  But  he  retained  vigor  and  freshness  of  heart 
and  mind  to  the  last,  and  his  latest  verses  show  no  signs  of 
decay.  He  died  in  London  after  a  long  ^nd  painful  illness, 
June  17,  1845, — Encyclopcedia  Britannica. 


TO   RICHARD   BENTLEY,  ESQ. 


My  dear  Sir: — 

You  wish  me  to  collect  into  a  single  volume  certain  ram- 
bling extracts  from  our  family  memoranda,  many  of  which 
have  already  appeared  in  the  pages  of  your  Miscellany.  At 
the  same  time  you  tell  me  that  doubts  are  entertained  in 
certain  quarters  as  to  the  authenticity  of  their  details. 

Now  with  respect  to  their  genuineness,  the  old  oak  chest,  in 
which  the  originals  are  deposited,  is  not  more  familiar  to  my 
eyes  than  it  is  to  your  own ;  and  if  its  contents  have  any 
value  at  all,  it  consists  in  the  strict  veracity  of  the  facts  they 
record. 

To   convince   the   most   incredulous   I   can   only   add   that 

should  business — pleasure   is   out  of  the  question — ever   call 

them   into   the   neighborhood   of    Folkestone,   let  them   take 

the  high-road  from  Canterbury  to  Dover  till  they  reach  the 

eastern  extremity  of  Barham  Downs.     Here  a  beautiful  green 

lane  diverging  abruptly  to  the  right  will  carry  them  through 

the   Oxenden   plantations    and    the    unpretending   village   of 

Denton  to  the  foot  of  a  very  respectable  hill, — as  hills  go  in 

this  part  of  Europe.     On  reaching  its  summit  let  them  look 

straight  before  them, — and  if,  among  the  hanging  woods  which 

crown  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley,  they  cannot  distinguish 

an  antiquated  Manor-house  of  Elizabethan  architecture,  with 

its  gable  ends,  stone  stanchions,  and  tortuous  chimneys  rising 

above  the  surrounding  trees,  why — the  sooner  they  procure  a 

pair  of  Dollond's  patent  spectacles  the  better. 

(vii) 


viii  PREFACE. 

If,  on  the  contrary,  they  can  manage  to  descry  it,  and,  pro- 
ceeding some  five  or  six  furlongs  through  the  avenue,  will  ring 
at  the  Lodge  gate, — they  cannot  mistake  the  stone  lion  with 
the  Ingoldsby  escutcheon  (Ermine,  a  saltire  engrailed  Gules) 
in  his  paws, — they  will  be  received  with  a  hearty  old  English 
welcome. 

The  papers  in  question  having  been  written  by  different 
parties,  and  at  various  periods,  I  have  thought  it  advisable 
to  reduce  the  more  ancient  of  them  into  a  comparatively 
modern  phraseology,  and  to  make  my  collateral  ancestor, 
Father  John,  especially,  "  deliver  himself  like  a  man  of  this 
world ;"  Mr.  Maguire,  indeed,  is  the  only  Gentleman  who, 
in  his  account  of  the  late  Coronation,  retains  his  own  rich 
vernacular. 

As  to  arrangement,  I  shall  adopt  the   sentiment  expressed 

by  the  Constable  of  Bourbon  four  centuries  ago,  teste   Shak- 

speare,  one  which   seems   to   become  more  fashionable  every 

day, 

"  The  Devil  take  all  order  ! !— I'll  to  the  throng !" 

Believe  me  to  be. 

My  dear  Sir, 
Yours,  most  indubitably  and  immeasurably, 

THOMAS  INGOLDSBY. 

Tappington  Everard,  Jan.  20,  1840. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


TO  RICHARD  BENTLEY,  ESQ. 

My  dear  Sir: — 

I  should  have  replied  sooner  to  your  letter,  but  that  the  last 
three  days  in  January  are,  as  you  are  aware,  always  dedicated, 
at  the  Hall,  to  an  especial  battue,  and  the  old  house  is  full  of 
shooting-jackets,  shot-belts,  and  "double  Joes."  Even  the 
women  wear  percussion  caps,  and  your  favorite  (?)  Rover,  who, 
you  may  remember,  examined  the  calves  of  your  legs  with 
such  suspicious  curiosity  at  Christmas,  is  as  pheasant-mad  as 
if  he  were  a  biped,  instead  of  being  a  genuine  four-legged  scion 
of  the  Blenheim  breed.  I  have  managed,  however,  to  avail 
myself  of  a  lucid  interval  in  the  general  hallucination  (how 
the  rain  did  come  down  on  Monday !),  and  as  you  tell  me  the 
excellent  friend  whom  you  are  in  the  habit  of  styling  "  a  Gen- 
erous and  Enlightened  Public"  has  emptied  your  shelves  of 
the  first  edition,  and  "  asks  for  more,"  why,  I  agree  with  you, 
it  would  be  a  want  of  resjjed  to  that  very  respectable  person- 
ification, when  furnishing  him  with  a  further  supply,  not  to 
endeavor,  at  least,  to  amend  my  faults,  which  are  few,  and 
your  own,  which  are  more  numerous,  I  have,  therefore,  gone 
to  work  con  amove,  supplying  occasionally  on  my  own  part  a 
deficient  note  or  elucidatory  stanza,  and  on  yours  knocking 
out,  without  remorse,  your  superfluous  i's,  and  now  and  then 
eviscerating  your  colon. 

My  duty  to  your  illustrious  friend  thus  performed,  I  have 

(ix) 


X  PREFACE   TO    THE  SECOND   EDITION. 

a  crow  to  pluck  witli  him.  Why  will  he  persist — as  you  tell 
me  he  does  persist — in  calling  me  by  all  sorts  of  names  but 
those  to  which  I  am  entitled  by  birth  and  baptism — my 
"  Sponsorial  and  Patronymic  appellations,"  as  Dr.  Paugloss 
has  it?  Mrs.  Malaprop  complains,  and  with  justice,  of  an 
"  assault  upon  her  parts  of  speech ;"  but  to  attack  one's  very 
existence — to  deny  that  one  is  a  person  in  esse,  and  scarcely  to 
admit  that  one  may  be  a  person  in  posse — is  tenfold  cruelty  ; — 
"it  is  pressing  to  death,  whipping,  and  hanging!"  Let  me 
entreat  all  such  likewise  to  remember  that,  as  Shakspeare 
beautifully  expresses  himself  elsewhere — I  give  his  words  as 
quoted  by  a  very  worthy  baronet  in  a  neighboring  county, 
when  protesting  against  a  defamatory  placard  at  a  general 
election — 

"  Who  steals  my  purse  steals  stuff! — 

'Twas  mine — 'tisn't  his — nor  nobody  else's ! 

But  he  who  runs  away  with  ray  GoOD  Name, 

Robs  me  of  what  does  not  do  him  any  good, 

And  makes  me  deuced  poor !  !"* 

In  order  utterly  to  squabash  and  demolish  every  gainsayer, 
I  had  thought,  at  one  time,  of  asking  my  old  and  esteemed 
friend,  Richard  Lane,  to  crush  them  at  once  with  his  magic 
pencil,  and  to  transmit  my  features  to  posterity,  where  all  his 
works  are  sure  to  be  "  delivered  according  to  the  direction ;" 
but  somehow  the  noble-looking  profiles  which  he  has  recently 
executed  of  the  Kemble  family  put  me  a  little  out  of  conceit 
of  my  own;  while  the  undisguised  amusement  which  my 
"  Mephistopheles  eyebrow,"  as  he  termed  it,  aifforded  him  in 
the  "  full  face,"  induced  me  to  lay  aside  the  design.  Besides, 
my  dear  sir,  since,  as  has  laeen  well  observed,  "  there  never  was 
a  married  man  yet  who  had  not  somebody  remarkably  like 
him  walking  about  town,"  it  is  a  thousand  to  one  but  my  lin- 
eaments might  after  all,  out  of  sheer  perverseness,  be  ascribed 

*  A  reading  which  seems  most  unaccountably  to  have  escaped  the  researches  of  all 
modern  Shakspeareans,  includipg  the  rival  editors  of  the  new  and  illustrated  versions. 


PREFACE   TO    THE  SECOND    EDITION.  xi 

to  any  body  rather  than  to  the  real  owner.  I  have  therefore 
sent  you,  instead  thereof,  a  fair  sketch  of  Tappington,  taken 
from  the  Folkestone  road  (I  tore  it  last  night  out  of  Julia 
Simpkinson's   album) :   get  Gilks   to   make   a  woodcut  of  it. 


And  now,  if  any  miscreant  (I  use  the  word  only  in  its  primary 
and  "Pickwickian"  sense  of  "Unbeliever")  ventures  to  throw 
any  further  doubt  upon  the  matter,  why,  as  Jack  Cade's  friend 
says  in  the  play,  "  There  are  the  chimneys  in  my  father's  house, 
and  the  bricks  are  alive  at  this  day  to  testify  it !" 
"  Why,  very  well  then — we  hope  here  be  truths !" 
Heaven  be  with  you,  my  dear  sir! — I  was  getting  a  little 
excited ;  but  you,  who  are  mild  as  the  milk  that  dews  the  soft 
whisker  of  the  new-weaned  kitten,  will  forgive  me  when,  wiping 
away  the  nascent  moisture  from  my  brow,  I  "pull  in,"  and 
subscribe  myself, 

Yours  quite  as  much  as  his  own, 

THOMAS  INGOLDSBY. 
Tappington  Evekard,  Feb.  2,  1848. 


CONTENTS. 


dFirst  5cn>s. 

PAGE 

The  Spectre  of  Tappington 17 

The  Nukse's  Story— The  Hand  op  Glory 44 

Patty    Morgan    the    Milkmaid's    Story— "Look    at    the 

Clock" 51 

Gray  Dolphin 59 

The  Ghost 79 

The  Cynotaph 88 

Mrs.  Botherby's  Story— The  Leech  of  Folkestone      .       .  94 

Legend  of  Hamilton  Tighe 121 

The  Witches'  Frolic 125 

Singular    Passage    in    the    Life    of    the    Late    Henry 

Harris,  D.D 140 

The  Jackdaw  of  Rheims 164 

A  Lay  of  St.  Dunstan 168 

A  Lay  of  St.  Gengulphus 179 

The  Lay  of  St.  Odille 189 

A  Lay  of  St.  Nicholas 196 

The  Lady  Rohesia     .        .               205 

The  Tragedy 213 

Mr.  Barney  Maguire's  Account  of  the  Coronation      .       .  217 

The  "Monstre"  Balloon 220 

Hon.  Mr.  Sucklethumbkin's  Story— The  Execution       .       .  224 

Some  Account  of  a  New  Play 228 

Mr.  Peters's  Story— The  Bagman's  Dog 287 

Appendix 254 

(  xiii  ) 


xiv  CONTENTS. 


S^fonlJ  S^en'fs. 


PAGE 

The  Black  Mousquetaire 257 

Sir  Rupert  the  Fearless 278 

The  Merchant  of  Venice 288 

The  AuTo-DA-Ffi 301 

The  Ingoldsby  Penance .320 

Netley  Abbey .        .334 

Fragment '    .       .       .       .       .       .  339 

Nell  Cook .  341 

Nursery  Eeminiscences 350 

Aunt  Fanny 352 

Misadventures  at  Margate 360 

The  Smuggler's  Leap 365 

Bloudie  Jacke  of  Shrewsberrie 372 

The  Babes  in  the  Wood 385 

The  Dead  Drummer 391 

A  Row  in  an  Omnibus  (Box) 403 

The  Lay  of  St.  Cuthbert 408 

The  Lay  of  St.  Aloys 421 

The  Lay  of  the  Old  Woman  Clothed  in  Gray      .        .        .432 

Raising  the  Devil 448 

St.  Medard   .  _ 450 


CONTENTS.  XV 


Cf)itti  ^tiim. 


PAGE 

The  Lord  of  Thoulouse 461 

The  Wedding-Day;  OE,  The  Buccaneer's  CuESE      .       .       .475 

The  Blasphemer's  Warning 490 

The  Brothers  of  Biechington 511 

The  Knight  and  the  Lady 524 

The  House- Warming 534 

The  Forlorn  One 548 

Jerry  Jarvis's  Wig 549 

Unsophisticated  Wishes 566 

Hermann;  or,  The  Broken  Spear 5C9 

Hints  for  an  Historical  Play 572 

Marie  Mignot 574 

The  Truants 576 

The  Poplar 580 

My  Lettef^ 581 

New-made  Honor 585 

The  Confession 585 

Song 586 

Epigram 587 

Epigram 687 

Song 588 

As  I  Laye  a-Thynkynge 688 


THE 


INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


3rf)e  SP^rtre  of  ^appmgton. 

*'  TT  is  very  odd,  though ;  what  can  have  become  of  them  ?" 

-L  said  Charles  Seaforth,  as  he  peeped  under  the  valance 
of  an  old-fashioned  bedstead,  in  an  old-fashioned  apartment  of 
a  still  more  old-fashioned  manor-house  ;  "  'tis  confoundedly  odd, 
and  I  can't  make  it  out  at  all.  Why,  Barney,  where  are  they? 
— and  where  the  d — 1  are  you  ?" 

No  answer  was  returned  to  this  appeal ;  and  the  lieutenant, 
who  was,  in  the  main,  a  reasonable  person — at  least  as  reason- 
able a  jDerson  as  any  young  gentleman  of  twenty-two  in  "  the 
service  "  can  fairly  be  expected  to  be — cooled  when  he  reflected 
that  his  servant  could  scarcely  reply  extempore  to  a  summons 
which  it  was  impossible  he  should  hear. 

An  application  to  the  hell  was  the  considerate  result ;  and  the 
footsteps  of  as  tight  a  lad  as  ever  put  pipe-clay  to  belt  sounded 
along  the  gallery. 

"  Come  in !"  said  his  master.  An  ineffectual  attempt  upon 
the  door  reminded  Mr.  Seaforth  that  he  had  locked  himself  in. 
"  By  heaven !  this  is  the  oddest  thing  of  all,"  said  he,  as  he 
turned  the  key  and  admitted  Mr.  Maguire  into  his  dormitory. 

"  Barney,  where  are  my  pantaloons  ?" 

"  Is  it  the  breeches  ?"  asked  the  valet,  casting  an  inquiring 
eye  round  the  apartment : — "  is  it  the  breeches,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  what  have  you  done  with  them  ?" 

"  Sure  then  your  honor  had  them  on  when  you  went  to  bed, 
and  it's  hereabout  they'll  be,  I'll  be  bail ;"  and  Barney  lifted  a 
fashionable  tunic  from  a  caue-backed  arm-chair,  proceeding  in 
2  ( 17  ) 


18  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

his  examination.  But  the  search  Avas  vain  :  there  was  the  tunic 
aforesaid ;  there  was  a  smart-looking  kerseymere  waistcoat ;  but 
the  most  important  article  of  all  in  a  gentleman's  wardrobe  was 
still  wanting. 

".Where  can  they  be  ?"  asked  the  master,  with  a  strong  ac- 
cent on  the  auxiliary  verb. 

"Sorrow  a  know  I  knows,"  said  the  man. 

"  It  viud  have  been  the  devil,  then,  after  all,  who  has  been 
here  and  carried  them  off!"  cried  Seaforth,  staring  full  into 
Barney's  face. 

'  Mi'.  Maguiie  w^sf  ixo^,  rie\fX)id  of  the  superstition  of  his  country- 
men, still  he  looked  as  if  he  did  not  quite  subscribe  to  the 
sequihir. 

His  master  read  incredulity  in  his  countenance.  "  Why,  I 
tell  you,  Barney,  I  put  them  there,  on  that  arm-chair,  when  I 
got  into  bed ;  and,  by  heaven !  I  distinctly  saw  the  ghost  of 
the  old  fellow  they  told  me  of  come  in  at  midnight,  put  on  my 
pantaloons,  and  walk  away  with  them." 

"  May  be  so,"  was  the  cautious  reply. 

"  I  thought,  of  course,  it  was  a  dream  ;  but  then — where  the 
d — 1  are  the  breeches  ?" 

The  question  was  more  easily  asked  than  answered.  Barney 
renewed  his  search,  while  the  lieutenant  folded  his  arms,  and, 
leaning  against  the  toilet,  sank  into  a  reverie. 

"After  all,  it  must  be  some  trick  of  my  laughter-loving 
cousins,"  said  Seaforth. 

"  Ah !  then,  the  ladies !"  chimed  in  Mr.  Maguire,  though  the 
observation  was  not  addressed  to  him ;  "  and  will  it  be  Miss 
Caroline  or  Miss  Fanny  that's  stole  your  honor's  things  ?" 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  think  of  it,"  pursued  the  bereaved 
lieutenant,  still  speaking  in  soliloquy,  with  his  eye  resting  dubi- 
ously on  the  chamber-door.  "  I  locked  myself  in,  that's  certain ; 
and — but  there  must  be  some  other  entrance  to  the  room — pooh ! 
I  remember — the  private  staircase;  how  could  I  be  such  a  fool?" 
and  he  crossed  the  chamber  to  where  a  low  oaken  doorcase  was 
dimly  visible  in  a  distant  corner.  He  paused  before  it.  Nothing 
now  interfered  to  screen  it  from  observation ;  but  it  bore  tokens 
of  having  been  at  some  earlier  period  concealed  by  tapestry, 
remains  of  which  yet  clothed  the  walls  on  either  side  the  portal. 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  19 

"This  way  they  must  have  come,"  said  Seaforth;  "I  wish 
with  all  my  heart  I  had  caught  them !" 

"  Och !  the  kittens !"  sighed  Mr.  Barney  Maguire. 

But  the  mystery  was  yet  as  far  from  being  solved  as  before. 
True,  there  was  the  "  other  door ;"  but  then  that,  too,  on  ex- 
amination, was  even  more  firmly  secured  than  the  one  which 
opened  on  the  gallery, — two  heavy  bolts  on  the  inside  effectu- 
ally prevented  ,any  coxip  cle  main  on  the  lieutenant's  bivouac 
from  that  quarter.  He  was  more  puzzled  than  ever ;  nor  did 
the  minutest  inspection  of  the  walls  and  floor  throw  any  light 
upon  the  subject:  one  thing  only* was  clear, — the  breeches  were 
gone !     "  It  is  very  singular,"  said  the  lieutenant. 


Tappington  (generally  called  Tapton)  Everard  is  an  anti- 
quated but  commodious  manor-house  in  the  eastern  division  of 
the  county  of  Kent.  A  former  proprietor  had  been  high-sheriff 
in  the  days  of  Elizabeth,  and  many  a  dark  and  dismal  tradition 
was  yet  extant  of  the  licentiousness  of  his  life  and  the  enormity 
of  his  offences.  The  Glen,  which  the  keeper's  daughter  was 
seen  to  enter,  but  never  known  to  quit,  still  frowns  darkly  as  of 
yore ;  while  an  ineradicable  bloodstain  on  the  oaken  stair  yet 
bids  defiance  to  the  united  energies  of  soap  and  sand.  But  it  is 
with  one  particular  apartment  that  a  deed  of  more  especial 
atrocity  is  said  to  be  connected.  A  stranger  guest — so  runs  the 
legend — arrived  unexpectedly  at  the  mansion  of  the  "  Bad  Sir 
Giles."  They  met  in  apparent  friendship  ;  but  the  ill-concealed 
scowl  on  their  master's  brow  told  the  domestics  that  the  visit 
was  not  a  welcome  one ;  the  banquet,  however,  was  not  spared ; 
the  wine  cup  circulated  freely, — too  freely,  perhaps,  for  sounds 
of  discord  at  length  reached  the  ears  of  even  the  excluded 
serving-men,  as  they  were  doing  their  best  to  imitate  their  bet- 
ters in  the  lower  hall.  Alarmed,  some  of  them  ventured  to 
approach  the  parlor ;  one,  an  old  and  favored  retainer  of  the 
house,  went  so  far  as  to  break  in  upon  his  master's  privacy. 
Sir  Giles,  already  high  in  oath,  fiercely  enjoined  his  absence, 
and  he  retired ;  not,  however,  before  he  had  distinctly  heard 
from  the  stranger's  lips  a  menace  that  "  there  was  that  within 


20  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINOTON. 

Ins  pocket  which  could  disprove  the  knight's  right  to  issue  that 
or  auy  other  command  within  the  walls  of  Tapton." 

Tlie  intrusion,  though  momentary,  seemed  to  have  produced 
a  beneficial  effect ;  the  voices  of  the  disputants  fell,  and  the  con- 
versation was  carried  on  thenceforth  in  a  more  subdued  tone, 
till,  as  evening  closed  in,  the  domestics,  when  summoned  to 
attend  with  lights,  found  not  only  cordiality  restored,  but  that 
a  still  deeper  carouse  was  meditated.  Fresh  stoups,  and  from 
the  choicest  bins,  were  produced ;  nor  was  it  till  at  a  late,  or 
rather  early,  hour  that  the  revellers  sought  their  chambers. 

The  one  allotted  to  the  stranger  occupied  the  first  floor  of  the 
eastern  angle  of  the  building,  and  had  once  been  the  favorite 
apartment  of  Sir  Giles  himself.  Scandal  ascribed  this  prefer- 
ence to  the  facility  which  a  private  staircase,  communicating 
with  the  grounds,  had  affq^'ded  him,  in  the  old  knight's  time,  of 
following  his  wicked  courses  unchecked  by  parental  observation ; 
a  consideration  which  ceased  to  be  of  weight  when  the  death  of 
his  father  left  him  uncontrolled  master  of  his  estate  and  actions. 
From  that  period  Sir  Giles  had  established  himself  in  what 
were  called  the  "  state  apartments,"  and  the  "  oaken  chamber  " 
was  rarely  tenanted,  save  on  occasions  of  extraordinary  festivity, 
or  when  the  yule  log  drew  an  unusually  large  accession  of  guests 
around  the  Christmas  hearth. 

On  this  eventful  night  it  was  pi-epared  for  the  unknown 
visitor,  who  sought  his  couch  heated  and  inflamed  from  his 
midnight  orgies,  and  in  the  morning  was  found  in  his  bed  a 
swollen  and  blackened  corpse.  No  marks  of  violence  appeared 
upon  the  body  ;  but  the  livid  hue  of  the  lips,  and  certain  dark- 
colored  spots  visible  on  the  skin,  aroused  suspicions  which  those 
who  entertained  them  were  too  tilnid  to  express.  Apoplexy, 
induced  by  the  excesses  of  the  preceding  night,  Sir  Giles's  con- 
fidential leech  pronounced  to  be  the  cause  of  his  sudden  disso- 
lution. The  body  was  buried  in  peace ;  and  though  some  shook 
their  heads  as  they  witnessed  the  haste  with  which  the  funeral 
rites  were  hurried  on,  none  ventured  to  murmur.  Other  events 
arose  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  retainers ;  men's  minds 
became  occupied  by  the  stirring  politics  of  the  day ;  while  the 
near  approach  of  that  formidable  armada,  so  vainly  arrogating 
to  itself  a  title  which  the  very  elements  joined  with  human 


THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINGTON.  21 

valor  to  disprove,  soon  interfered  to  weaken,  if  not  obliterate, 
all  remembrance  of  the  nameless  stranger  who  had  died  within 
the  walls  of  Tapton  Everard. 

Years  rolled  on  :  the  "  Bad  Sir  Giles  "  had  himself  long  since 
gone  to  his  account,  the  last,  as  it  was  believed,  of  his  immediate 
line ;  though  a  few  of  the  older  tenants  were  sometimes  heard 
to  speak  of  an  elder  brother,  who  had  disappeared  in  early  life, 
and  never  inherited  the  estate.  Rumors,  too,  of  his  having  left 
a  son  in  foreign  lands  were  at  one  time  rife ;  but  they  died 
away,  nothing  occurring  to  support  them  :  the  property  passed 
unchallenged  to  a  collateral  branch  of  the  family,  and  the 
secret,  if  secret  there  were,  was  buried  in  Denton  churchyard, 
in  the  lonely  grave  of  the  mysterious  stranger.  One  circum- 
stance alone  occurred,  after  a  long  intervening  period,  to 
revive  the  memory  of  these  transactions.  Some  workmen 
employed  in  grubbing  an  old  plantation,  for  the  purpose  of 
raising  on  its  .site  a  modern  shrubbery,  dug  up,  in  the  execution 
of  their  task,  the  mildewed  remnants  of  what  seemed  to  have 
been  once  a  garment.  On  more  minute  inspection,  enough  re- 
mained of  silken  slashes  and  a  coarse  embroidery  to  identify 
the  relics  as  having  once  formed  part  of  a  pair  of  trunk  hose ; 
while  a  few  papers  which  fell  from  them,  altogether  illegible 
from  damp  and  age,  were  by  the  unlearned  rustics  conveyed  to 
the  then  owner  of  the  estate. 

Whether  the  squire  was  more  successful  in  deciphering  them 
was  never  known  ;  he  certainly  never  alluded  to  their  contents ; 
and  little  would  have  been  thought  of  the  matter  but  for  the 
inconvenient  memory  of  an  old  woman,  who  declared  she  heard 
her  grandfather  say  that  when  the  "stranger  guest"  was  poi- 
soned, though  all  the  rest  of  his  clothes  were  there*  his  breeches, 
the  supposed  repository  of  the  supposed  documents,  could  never 
be  found.  The  master  of  Tapton  Everard  smiled  when  ho 
heard  Dame  Jones's  hint  of  deeds  which  might  impeach  tho 
validity  of  his  own  title  in  favor  of  some  unknown  descendant 
of  some  unknown  heir ;  and  the  story  was  rarely  alluded  \(\ 
save  by  one  or  two  miracle-mongers,  who  had  heard  that  others 
had  seen  the  ghost  of  old  Sir  Giles,  in  his  nightcap,  issue  from 
the  postern,  enter  the  adjoining  copse,  and  wring  his  shadowy 
hands  in  agony,  as  he  seemed  to  search  vainly  for  something 


22  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

hidden  among  the  evergreens.  The  stranger's  death-room  had, 
of  course,  been  occasionally  haunted  from  the  time  of  his 
decease ;  but  the  periods  of  visitation  had  latterly  become  very 
rare — even  Mrs.  Botherby,  the  housekeeper,  being  forced  to 
admit  that  during  her  long  sojourn  at  the  manor  she  had  never 
"met  with  anything  worse  than  herself;"  though,  as  the  old 
lady  afterwards  added  upon  more  mature  reflection,  "  I  must 
say  I  think  I  saw  the  devil  once." 

Such  was  the  legend  attached  to  Tapton  Everard,  and  such 
the  story  which  the  lively  Caroline  Ingoldsby  detailed  to  her 
equally  mercurial  cousin,  Charles  Seaforth,  lieutenant  in  the 
Hon.  East  India  Company's  second  regiment  of  Bombay  Fen- 
cibles,  as  arm-in-arm  they  promenaded  a  gallery  decked  with 
some  dozen  grim-looking  ancestral  portraits,  and,  among  others, 
with  that  of  the  redoubted  Sir  Giles  himself.  The  gallant  com- 
mander had  that  very  morning  paid  his  first  visit  to  the  house 
of  his  maternal  uncle,  after  an  absence  of  several  years  passed 
with  his  regiment  on  the  arid  plains  of  Hindostan,  whence  he 
was  now  returned  on  a  three  years'  furlough.  He  had  gone  out 
a  boy — he  returned  a  man  ;  but  the  impression  made  upon  his 
youthful  fancy  by  his  favorite  cousin  remained  unimpaired,  and 
to  Tapton  he  directed  his  steps,  even  before  he  sought  the  home 
of  his  widowed  mother, —  comforting  himself  in  this  breach  of 
filial  decorum  by  the  reflection  that,  as  the  manor  was  so  little 
out  of  his  way,  it  would  be  unkind  to  pass,  as  it  were,  the  door 
of  his  relatives,  without  just  looking  in  for  a  few  hours. 

But  he  found  his  uncle  as  hospitable,  and  his  cousin  more 
charming  than  ever ;  and  the  looks  of  one,  and  the  requests  of 
the  other,  soon  precluded  the  possibility  of  refusing  to  lengthen 
the  "  few  hours "  into  a  few  days,  though  the  house  was  at  the 
moment  full  of  visitors. 

The  Peterses  were  there  from  Eamsgate ;  and  Mr.,  Mrs.,  and 
the  two  Miss  Simpkinsons,  from  Bath,  had  come  to  pass  a  month 
with  the  family ;  and  Tom  Ingoldsby  had  brought  down  his 
college  friend  the  Honorable  Augustus  Sucklethumbkin,  with 
his  groom  and  pointers,  to  take  a  fortnight's  shooting.  And 
then  there  was  Mrs.  Ogleton,  the  rich  young  widow,  with  her 
large  black  eyes,  who,  people  did  say,  was  setting  her  cap  at  the 
young  squire,  though  Mrs.  Botherby  did  not  believe  it ;  and, 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  23 

above  all,  there  was  Mademoiselle  Pauline,  her  fcmme  de  chnn- 
hre,  who  "mon-Dieu'd"  everything  and  everybody,  and  cried 
"  Quel  horreur  /"  at  Mrs.  Botherby's  cap.  In  short,  to  use  the 
last-named  and  much-respected  lady's  owa  expression,  the  house 
was  "  choke-full "  to  the  very  attics, — all  save  the  "  oaken  cham- 
ber," which,  as  the  lieutenant  expressed  a  most  magnanimous 
disregard  of  ghosts,  was  forthwith  appropriated  to  bis  particular 
accommodation.  Mr.  Maguire  meanwhile  was  fain  to  share  the 
apartment  of  Oliver  Dobbs,  the  squire's  own  man  :  a  jocular  pro- 
posal of  joint  occupancy  having  been  first  indignantly  rejected 
by  "  Mademoiselle,"  though  preferred  with  the  "  laste  taste  in 
life"  of  Mr.  Barney's  most  insinuating  brogue. 


"  Come,  Charles,  the  urn  is  absolutely  getting  cold  ;  your 
breakfast  will  be  quite  spoiled :  what  can  have  made  you 
so  idle  ?"  Such  was  the  morning  salutation  of  Miss  Ingoldsby 
to  the  militaire  as  he  entered  the  breakfast-room  half  an  hour 
after  the  latest  of  the  party. 

"  A  pretty  gentleman,  truly,  to  make  an  appointment  with  !" 
chimed  in  Miss  Frances.  "  What  is  become  of  our  ramble  to 
the  rocks  before  breakfast  ?" 

"  Oh !  the  young  men  never  think  of  keeping  a  promise  now," 
said  Mrs.  Peters,  a  little  ferret-faced  woman  with  underdone 
eyes. 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Peters,  "  I  remember 
I  always  made  a  point  of " 

"  Pray,  how  long  ago  Avas  that?"  asked  Mr.  Simpkinson  from 
Bath. 

"  Why,  sir,  when  I  married  Mrs.  Peters,  I  was — let  me  see — 
I  was " 

"  Do  pray  hold  your  tongue,  P.,  and  eat  your  breakfast!" 
interrupted  his  better  half,  who  had  a  mortal  horror  of  chron- 
ological references ;  "  it's  very  rude  to  tease  people  with  your 
family  affairs." 

The  lieutenant  had  by  this  time  taken  his  seat  in  silence — a 
good-humored  nod,  and  a  glance,  half-smiling,  half-inquisitive, 
being  the  extent  of  his  salutation.    Smitten  as  he  was,  and  in  the 


24  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPING  TON. 

immediate  presence  of  her  who  had  made  so  large  a  hole  in  his 
heart,  his  manner  was  evidently  distrait,  which  the  fair  Caroline 
in  her  secret  soul  attributed  to  his  being  solely  occupied  by  her 
agremens:  how  would  she  have  bridled  had  she  known  that 
they  only  shared  his  meditations  with  a  pair  of  breeches ! 

Charles  drank  his  coffee  and  spiked  some  half-dozen  eggs, 
darting  occasionally  a  penetrating  glance  at  the  ladies,  in  hope 
of  detecting  the  supposed  waggery  by  the  evidence  of  some  fur- 
tive smile  or  conscious  look.  But  in  vain ;  not  a  dimple  moved 
indicative  of  roguery,  nor  did  the  slightest  elevation  of  eyebrow 
rise  confirmative  of  his  suspicions.  Hints  and  insinuations 
passed  unheeded — more  particular  inquiries  were  out  of  the 
question : — the  subject  was  unapproachable. 

In  the  meantime,  "patent  cords"  were  just  the  thing  for  a 
morning's  ride ;  and,  breakfast  ended,  away  cantered  the  party 
over  the  downs,  till,  every  faculty  absorbed  by  the  beauties, 
animate  and  inanimate,  which  surrounded  him.  Lieutenant 
Seaforth  of  the  Bombay  Fencibles  bestowed  no  more  thought 
upon  his  breeches  than  if  he  had  been  born  on  the  top  of  Ben 
Lomond. 


Another  night  had  passed  away ;  the  sun  rose  brilliantly, 
forming  with  his  level  beams  a  splendid  rainbow  in  the  far-off 
west,  whither  the  heavy  cloud,  which  for  the  last  two  hours  had 
been  pouring  its  waters  on  the  earth,  was  now  flying  before  him. 

"Ah!  then,  and  it's  little  good  it'll  be  the  claning  of  ye," 
apostrophized  Mr.  Barney  Maguire,  as  he  deposited  in  front  of 
his  master's  toilet  a  pair  of  "bran  new"  jockey  boots,  one  of 
Hoby's  primest  fits,  which  the  lieutenant  had  purchased  in  his 
way  through  town.  On  that  very  morning  had  they  come  for 
the  first  time  under  the  valet's  depurating  hand,  so  little  soiled, 
indeed,  from  the  turfy  ride  of  the  preceding  day,  that  a  less 
scrupulous  domestic  might,  perhaps,  have  considered  the  appli- 
cation of  "Warren's  INIatchless,"  or  oxalic  acid,  altogether 
superfluous.  Not  so  Barney :  with  the  nicest  care  had  he  re- 
moved the  slightest  impurity  from  each  polished  surface,  and 
there  they  stood,  rejoicing  in  their  sable  radiance.  No  wonder 
a  pang  shot  across  Mr.  Maguire's  breast  as  he  thought  on  the 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  25 

work  now  cut  out  for  them,  so  different  from  the  light  labors 
of  the  day  before ;  no  wonder  he  murmured  with  a  sigh,  as  the 
scarce-dried  window-panes  disclosed  a  road  now  inch  deep  in 
mud,  "  Ah  !  then,  it's  little  good  the  claning  of  ye !" — for  well 
had  he  learned  iu  the  hall  below  that  eight  miles  of  a  stiff  clay 
soil  lay  between  the  manor  and  BolsQver  Abbey,  whose  pictur- 
esque ruins, 

"  Like  ancient  Home,  majestic  in  decay," 

the  party  had  determined  to  explore.     The  master  had  already 
commenced  dressing,  and  the  man  was  fitting  straps  upon  a  light 
pair  of  crane-necked  spurs,  when  his  hand  was  arrested  by  the 
old  question — "  Barney,  where  are  the  breeches  ?" 
They  were  nowh^e  to  be  found ! 


Mr.  Seaforth  descended  that  morning,  whip  in  hand,  and 
equipped  in  a  handsome  green  riding-frock,  but  no  "  breeches 
and  boots  to  match"  were  thei-e:  loose  jean  trousers,  surmount- 
ing a  pair  of  diminutive  Wellingtons,  embraced,  somewhat  in- 
congruously, his  nether  man,  vice  the  "  patent  cords,"  returned, 
like  yesterday's  pantaloons,  absent  without  leave.  The  "  top- 
boots"  had  a  holiday. 

"  A  fine  morning  after  the  rain,"  said  Mr.  Simpkinson  from 
Bath. 

"  Just  the  thing  for  the  'ops,"  said  Mr.  Peters.  "  I  remember 
when  I  was  a  boy " 

"  Do  hold  your  tongue,  P.,"  said  Mrs.  Peters — advice  which 
that  exemplary  matron  Avas  in  the  constant  habit  of  administer- 
ing to  "  her  P.,"  as  she  called  him,  whenever  he  prepared  to 
vent  his  reminiscences.  Her  precise  reason  for  this  it  would  be 
difiicult  to  determine,  unless,  indeed,  the  story  be  true  which  a 
little  bird  had  whispered  into  Mrs.  Botherby's  ear — Mr.  Peters, 
though  now  a  wealthy  man,  had  received  a  liberal  education  at 
a  charity  school,  and  was  apt  to  recur  to  the  days  of  his  muffin- 
cap  and  leathers.  As  usual,  he  took  his  wife's  hint  in  good 
part,  and  "  paused  in  his  reply." 

"  A  glorious  day  for  the  ruins !"  said  young  Ingoldsby.   "  But, 


26  THE  SPECTRE   OF   TAPPINGTON. 

Charles,  what  the  deuce  are  you  about?  you  don't  mean  to  ride 
through  our  lanes  in  such  toggery  as  that  ?" 

"  Lassy  me !"  said  Miss  Julia  Simpkinson,  "won't  you  be  very 
wet?" 

"  You  had  better  take  Tom's  cab,"  quoth  the  squire. 

But  this  proposition  was  at  once  overruled ;  Mrs.  Ogleton  had 
already  nailed  the  cab,  a  vehicle  of  all  others  the  best  adapted 
for  a  snug  flirtation. 

"Or  drive  Miss  Julia  in  the  phaeton?"  No;  that  was  the 
post  of  Mr.  Peters,  who,  indifferent  as  an  equestrian,  had  ac- 
quired some  fame  as  a  whip  while  travelling  through  the  mid- 
land counties  for  the  firm  of  Bagshaw,  Snivelby,  and  Ghrimes. 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  ride  with  my  cousins,"  said  Charles, 
with  as  much  nonchalance  as  he  could  assume — and  he  did  so ; 
Mr.  Ingoldsby,  Mrs.  Peters,  Mr.  Simpkinson  from  Bath,  and  his 
eldest  daughter  with  her  album,  following  in  the  family  coach. 
The  gentleman-commoner  "voted  the  affair  d — d  slow,"  and 
declined  the  party  altogether  in  favor  of  the  gamekeeper  and  a 
cigar.  "  There  was  '  no  fun '  in  looking  at  old  houses !"  Mrs. 
Simpkinson  preferred  a  short  sejour  in  the  still-room  with  Mrs. 
Botherby,  who  had  promised  to  initiate  her  in  that  grand  ar- 
canuin,  the  transmutation  of  gooseberry  jam  into  Guava  jelly. 


"  Did  you  ever  see  an  old  abbey  before,  Mr.  Peters  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  a  French  one ;  we  have  got  one  at  Ramsgate ;  he 
teaches  the  Miss  Joneses  to  parley-voo,  and  is  turned  of  sixty." 

Miss  Simpkinson  closed  her  album  with  an  air  of  ineffable 
disdain. 

Mr.  Simpkinson  from  Bath  was  a  professed  antiquary,  and 
one  of  the  first  water ;  he  was  master  of  Gwillim's  Heraldry 
and  Mills's  History  of  the  Crusades ;  knew  every  plate  in  the 
Monasticon ,  had  written  an  essay  on  the  origin  and  dignity  of 
the  office  of  overseer,  and  settled  the  date  on  a  Queen  Anne's 
farthing.  An  influential  member  of  the  Antiquarian  Society, 
to  whose  "  Beauties  of  Bagnigge  Wells  "  he  had  been  a  liberal 
subscriber,  procured  him  a  seat  at  the  board  of  that  learned 
body,  since  which  happy  epoch  Sylvauus  Urban  had  not  a  more 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAFPINGTON.  27 

indefatigable  correspondent.  His  inaugural  essay  on  the  Presi- 
dent's cocked  hat  was  considered  a  miracle  of  erudition  ;  and  his 
account  of  the  earliest  application  of  gilding  to  gingerbread,  a 
masterpiece  of  antiquarian  research.  His  eldest  daughter  was 
of  a  kindred  spirit :  if  her  father's  mantle  had  not  fallen  upon 
her,  it  was  only  because  he  had  not  thrown  it  off  himself;  she 
had  caught  hold  of  its  tail,  however,  while  it  yet  hung  upon  his 
honored  shoulders.  To  souls  so  congenial,  what  a  sight  was  the 
magnificent  ruin  of  Bolsover !  its  broken  arches,  its  mouldering 
pinnacles,  and  the  airy  tracery  of  its  half-demolished  windows. 
The  party  were  in  raptures ;  Mr.  Simpkinson  began  to  meditate 
an  essay,  and  his  daughter  an  ode :  even  Seaforth,  as  he  gazed 
on  these  lonely  relics  of  the  olden  time,  was  betrayed  into  a 
momentary  forgetfulness  of  his  love  and  losses :  the  widow's 
eye-glass  turned  from  her  cicisbeo's  whiskers  to  the  mantling  ivy; 
Mrs.  Peters  wiped  her  spectacles ;  and  "  her  P."  supposed  the 
central  tower  "  had  once  been  the  county  jail."  The  squire  was 
a  philosopher,  and  had  been  there  often  before,  so  he  ordered 
out  the  cold  tongue  and  chickens. 

"  Bolsover  Priory,"  said  Mr.  Simpkinson,  with  the  air  of  a 
connoisseur, — "  Bolsover  Priory  was  founded  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  the  Sixth,  about  the  beginning  of  the  eleventh  century. 
Hugh  de  Bolsover  had  accompanied  that  monarch  to  the  Holy 
Land  in  the  expedition  undertaken  by  way  of  penance  for  the 
murder  of  his  young  nephews  in  the  Tower.  Upon  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  monasteries,  the  veteran  was  enfeoffed  in  the  lands 
and  manor,  to  which  he  gave  his  own  name  of  Bowlsover,  or 
Bee-owls-over  (by  corruption  Bolsover), — a  Bee  in  chief,  over 
three  Owls,  all  proper,  being  the  armorial  ensigns  borne  by  this 
distinguished  crusader  at  the  siege  of  Acre." 

"Ah!  that  was  Sir  Sidney  Smith,"  said  Mr.  Peters;  "I've 
heard  tell  of  him,  and  all  about  Mrs.  Partington,  and " 

"  P.,  be  quiet,  and  don't  expose  yourself!"  sharply  interrupted 
his  lady.  P.  was  silenced,  and  betook  himself  to  the  bottled  stout. 

"  These  lands,"  continued  the  antiquary,  "  were  held  in  grand 
sergeantry  by  the  presentation  of  three  white  owls  and  a  pot  of 
honey " 

"  Lassy  me !  how  nice !"  said  Miss  Julia.  Mr.  Peters  licked 
his  lips. 


28  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

"  Pray  give  me  leave,  my  clear — owls  and  honey,  whenever 
the  king  should  come  a  rat-catching  into  this  part  of  the 
country." 

"Rat-catching!"  ejaculated  the  squire,  jmusing  abruptly  in 
the  mastication  of  a  drumstick. 

"  To  be  sure,  my  dear  sir :  don't  you  remember  the  rats  once 
came  under  the  forest  laws — a  minor  species  of  venison  ?  '  Rats, 
mice,  and  such  small  deer,'  eh  ? — Shakspeare,  you  know.  Our 
ancestors  ate  rats  ('  The  nasty  fellows !'  shuddered  Miss  Julia, 
in  a  parenthesis) ;  and  owls,  you  know,  are  capital  mousers " 

"  I've  seen  a  howl,"  said  Mr.  Peters  ;  "  there's  one  in  the  So- 
hological  Gardens, — a  little  hook-nosed  chap  in  a  wig, — only 
its  feathers  and " 

Poor  P.  was  destined  never  to  finish  a  speech. 

"Do  be  quiet!"  cried  the  authoritative  voice ;  and  the  would- 
be  naturalist  shrank  into  his  shell,  like  a  snail  in  the  "  Soho- 
logical  Gardens." 

"  You  should  read  Blount's  '  Jocular  Tenures,'  Mr.  Ingolds- 
by,"  pursued  Simpkinson.  "  A  learned  man  was  Blount !  Why, 
sir,  His  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  York  once  paid  a  silver 
horse-shoe  to  Lord  Ferrers " 

"  I've  heard  of  him,"  broke  in  the  incorrigible  Peters ;  "  he 
"was  hanged  at  the  Old  Bailey  in  a  silk  rope  for  shooting  Dr. 
Johnson." 

The  antiquary  vouchsafed  no  notice  of  the  interruption ;  but, 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  continued  his  harangue. 

"A  silver  horse-shoe,  sir,  which  is  due  from  every  scion  of 
royalty  who  rides  across  one  of  his  manors ;  and,  if  you  look 
into  the  penny  county  histories,  now  publishing  by  an  eminent 
friend  of  mine,  you  will  find  that  Langhale  in  Co.  Norf.  was 
held  by  one  Baldwin  per  saltum,  siifflatum,  et  pettum ;  that  is,  he 
was  to  come  every  Christmas  into  Westminster  Hall,  there  to 
take  a  leap,  cry  hem !  and " 

"  Mr.  Simpkinson,  a  glass  of  sherry  ?"  cried  Tom  Ingoldsby, 
hastily. 

"  Not  any,  thank  you,  sir.    This  Baldwin,  surnamed  Le " 

"  Mrs.  Ogleton  challenges  you,  sir ;  she  insists  upon  it,"  said 
Tom,  still  more  rapidly,  at  the  same  time  filling  a  glass  and 
forcing  it  on  the  sgavant,  who,  thus  arrested  in  the  very  crisis 


TBE  SPECTRE   OF   TAPPING  TON.  29 

of  his  narrative,  received  and  swallowed  the  potation  as  if  it 
had  been  physic. 

"What  on  earth  has  Miss  Simpkinson  discovered  there?" 
continued  Tom ;  "  something  of  interest.  See  how  fast  she  is 
writing." 

The  diversion  was  effectual ;  every  one  looked  towards  Miss 
Simpkinson,  who,  far  too  ethereal  for  "  creature  comforts,"  was 
seated  apart  on  the  dilapidated  remains  of  an  altar-tomb,  com- 
mitting eagerly  to  paper  something  that  had  strongly  impressed 
her ;  the  air — the  eye  in  a  "  fine  frenzy  rolling," — all  betokened 
that  the  divine  afflatus  was  come.  Her  father  rose  and  stole 
silently  towards  her. 

"  What  an  old  boar !"  muttered  young  Ingoldsby ;  alluding 
perhaps  to  a  slice  of  brawn  which  he  had  just  begun  to  operate 
upon,  but  which,  from  the  celerity  with  which  it  disappeared, 
did  not  seem  so  very  difficult  of  mastication. 

But  what  had  become  of  Seaforth  and  his  fair  Caroline  all 
this  while?  Why,  it  so  happened  that  they  had  been  simul- 
taneously stricken  with  the  picturesque  appearance  of  one  of 
those  high  and  pointed  arches  which  that  eminent  antiquary, 
Mr.  Horseley  Curties,  has  described  in  his  "Ancient  Records" 
as  "  a  Gothic  window  of  the  Saxon  order ;"  and  then  the  ivy 
clustered  so  thickly  and  so  beautifully  on  the  other  side  that 
they  went  round  to  look  at  that ;  and  then  their  proximity  de- 
prived it  of  half  its  effect,  and  so  they  walked  across  to  a  little 
knoll,  a  hundred  yards  off,  and  in  crossing  a  small  ravine  they 
came  to  what  in  Ireland  they  call  "  a  bad  step,"  and  Charles 
had  to  carry  his  cousin  over  it ;  and  then  when  they  had  to 
come  back,  she  would  not  give  him  the  trouble  again  for  the 
world,  so  they  followed  a  better  but  more  circuitous  route,  and 
there  were  hedges  and  ditches  in  the  way,  and  stiles  to  get  over 
and  gates  to  get  through,  so  that  an  hour  or  more  had  elapsed 
before  they  were  able  to  rejoin  the  party. 

■'  Lassy  me !"  said  Miss  Julia  Simpkinson,  "  how  long  you 
have  been  gone !" 

And  so  they  had.  The  remark  was  a  very  just  as  well  as  a 
very  natural  one.  They  were  gone  a  long  while,  and  a  nice 
cosy  chat  they  had ;  and  what  do  you  think  it  was  all  about, 
my  dear  miss  ? 


30  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINOTON. 

"  Oh,  lassysme!  love,  no  doubt,  and  the  moon,  and  eyes,  and 
nightingales,  and; " 

Stay,  stay,  my  sweet  young  lady;  do  not  let  the  fervor  of 
your  feelings  run  away  with  you !  I  do  not  pretend  to  say,  in- 
deed, that  one  or  more  of  these  pretty  subjects  might  not  have 
been  introduced ;  but  the  most  important  and  leading  topic  of 
the  conference  was: — Lieutenant  Seaforth's  breeches, 

"  Caroline,"  said  Charles,  "  I  have  had  some  very  odd  dreams 
since  I  have  been  at  Tappington." 

"  Dreams,  have  you  ?"  smiled  the  young  lady,  arching  her 
taper  neck  like  a  swan  in  pluming      "  Dreams,  have  you  ?" 

"Ay,  dreams, — or  dream,  perhaps,  I  should  say ;  for,  though 
repeated,  It  was  still  the  same.  And  what  do  you  imagine  was 
its  subject?" 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  divine,"  said  the  tongue ; — "  I 
have  not  the  least  difficulty  in  guessing,"  said  the  eye,  as  plainly 
as  ever  eye  spoke. 

"  I  dreamt — of  your  great-grandfather !" 

There  was  a  change  in  the  glance — "My  great-grand- 
father?" 

"  Yes,  the  old  Sir  Giles,  or  Sir  John,  you  told  me  about  the 
other  day :  he  walked  into  my  bedroom  in  his  short  cloak  of 
murrey-colored  velvet,  his  long  rapier,  and  his  Raleigh-looking 
hat  and  feather,  just  as  the  picture  represents  him ;  but  with 
one  exception." 

"And  what  was  that?" 

"  Why,  his  lower  extremities,  which  were  visible,  were  those 
of  a  skeleton." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  after  taking  a  turn  or  two  about  the  room,  and  look- 
ing round  him  with  a  wistful  air,  he  came  to  the  bed's  foot, 
stared  at  me  in  a  manner  impossible  to  describe, — and  then  he — 
h'e  laid  hold  of  my  pantaloons  ;  whipped  his  long  bony  legs  into 
them  in  a  twinkling ;  and  strutting  up  to  the  glass,  seemed  to 
view  himself  in  it  with  great  complacency.  I  tried  to  speak, 
but  in  vain.  The  effort,  however,  seemed  to  excite  his  atten- 
tion ;  for,  wheeling  about,  he  showed  me  the  grimmest-looking 
death's  head  you  can  w^ell  imagine,  and  with  an  indescribable 
grin  strutted  out  of  the  room." 


THE  SrECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  31 

"Absurd!  Charles.     How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense?" 
"  But,  Caroline, — the  breeches  are  really  gone." 


On  the  following  morning,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  Sea- 
forth  was  the  first  person  in  the  breakfast  parlor.  As  no  one 
else  was  present,  he  did  precisely  what  nine  young  men  out  of 
ten  so  situated  would  have  done ;  he  walked  up  to  the  mantle- 
piece,  established  himself  upon  the  rug,  and,  subducting  his 
coat-tails  one  under  each  arm,  turned  towards  the  fire  that  por- 
tion of  the  human  frame  which  it  is  considered  equally  indeco- 
rous to  present  to  a  friend  or  an  enemy.  A  serious,  not  to  say 
anxious,  expression  was  visible  upon  his  good-humored  counte- 
nance, and  his  mouth  was  fast  buttoning  itself  up  for  an  incip- 
ient whistle,  when  little  Floy,  a  tiny  spaniel  of  the  Blenheim 
breed, — the  pet  object  of  Miss  Julia  Simpkinson's  affections, — ■ 
bounced  out  from  beneath  a  sofa,  and  began  to  bark  at — his 
pantaloons. 

They  were  cleverly  "  built,"  of  a  light-gray  mixture,  a  broad 
stripe  of  the  most  vivid  scarlet  traversing  each  seam  in  a  per- 
pendicular direction  from  hip  to  ankle — in  short,  the  regimental 
costume  of  the  Royal  Bombay  Fencibles.  The  animal,  educated 
in  the  country,  had  never  seen  such  a  pair  of  breeches  in  her 
life —  Onme  ignotum  pro  magnifico  !  The  scarlet  streak,  inflamed 
as  it  was  by  the  reflection  of  the  fire,  seemed  to  act  on  Flora's 
nerves  as  the  same  color  does  on  those  of  bulls  f  nd  turkeys ; 
she  advanced  at  the  pas  de  charge,  and  her  vociferation,  like  her 
amazement,  was  unbounded.  A  sound  kick  from  the  disgusted 
officer  changed  its  character,  and  induced  a  retreat  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  mistress  of  the  pugnacious  quadruped  entered 
to  the  rescue. 

"  Lassy  me !  Flo,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  cried  the  sympathiz- 
ing lady,  with  a  scrutinizing  glance  levelled  at  the  gentleman. 

It  might  as  well  have  lighted  on  a  feather  bed.  His  air  of 
imperturbable  unconsciousness  defied  examination ;  and  as  he 
would  not,  and  Flora  could  not,  expound,  that  injured  individual 
was  compelled  to  pocket  up  her  wrongs.  Others  of  the  house- 
hold soon  dropped  in,  and  clustered  round  the  board  dedicated 
to  the  most  sociable  of  meals ;  the  urn  Avas  paraded  "  hissing 


32  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAFPINGTON. 

hot,"  and  the  cups  which  "  cheer,  but  not  inebriate,"  steamed 
redolent  of  hyson  and  pekoe ;  muihns  and  marmalade,  news- 
papers and  Finnon  baddies,  left  little  room  for  observation  on 
the  character  of  Charles's  warlike  "turn-out,"  At  length  a 
look  from  Caroline,  followed  by  a  smile  that  nearly  ripened  to 
a  titter,  caused  him  to  turn  abruptly  and  address  his  neighbor. 
It  was  Miss  Simpkinson,  who,  deeply  engaged  iu  sipping  her  tea 
and  turning  over  her  album,  seemed,  like  a  female  Chronono- 
tonthologos,  "immersed  in  cogibundity  of  cogitation."  An 
interrogatory  on  the  subject  of  her  studies  di'ew  from  her  the 
confession  that  she  was  at  that  moment  employed  iu  putting  the 
finishing  touches  to  a  poem  inspired  by  the  romantic  shades  of 
Bolsover.  The  entreaties  of  the  company  were  of  course  urgent. 
Mr.  Peters,  "  who  liked  verses,"  was  especially  persevering,  and 
Sappho  at  length  compliant.  After  a  preparatory  hem  !  and  a 
glance  at  the  mirror  to  ascertain  that  her  look  was  sufficiently 
sentimental,  the  poetess  began : — 

"  There  is  a  calm,  a  holy  feeling, 

Vulgar  minds  can  never  know. 
O'er  the  bosom  softly  stealing, — 

Chasten'd  grief,  delicious  woe  1 
Oh  !  how  sweet  at  eve  regaining 

Yon  lone  tower's  sequester'd  shade — 
Sadly  mute  and  uncomplaining " 

— Yow ! — yeough ! — yeough ! — yow ! — yow !  yelled  a  hapless  suf- 
ferer from  Ijeneath  the  table.  It  was  an  unlucky  hour  for 
quadrupeds ,  and  if  "  every  dog  will  have  his  day,"  he  could 
not  have  selected  a  more  unpropitious  one  than  this.  Mrs. 
Ogleton,  too,  had  a  pet, — a  favorite  pug, — whose  squab  figure, 
black  muzzle,  and  tortuosity  of  tail,  that  curled  like  a  head 
of  celery  in  a  salad-bowl,  bespoke  his  Dutch  extraction.  Yow ! 
yow !  yow !  continued  the  brute, — a  chorus  in  which  Flo  in- 
stantly joined.  Sooth  to  say,  pug  had  more  reason  to  express 
his  dissatisfaction  than  was  given  him  by  the  muse  of  Simpkin- 
son ;  the  other  only  barked  for  company.  Scarcely  had  the 
poetess  got  through  her  first  stanza,  when  Tom  Ingoldsby,  in 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  became  so  lost  in  the  material 
world,  that,  in  his  abstraction,  he  unwarily  laid  his  hand  on  the 
cock  of  the  urn.     Quivering  with  emotion,  he  gave  it  such  an 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  33 

unlucky  twist  that  the  full  stream  of  its  scalding  contents  de- 
scended on.  the  gingerbread  hide  of  the  unlucky  Cupid.  The 
confusion  was  complete ;  the  whole  economy  of  the  table  disar- 
ranged— the  company  broke  uj)  in  most  admired  disorder — and 
"vulgar  minds  will  never  know"  anything  more  of  Miss  Simp- 
kinson's  ode  till  they  peruse  it  in  some  forthcoming  Annual. 

Seaforth  profited  by  the  confusion  to  take  the  delinquent  who 
had  caused  this  "  stramash  "  by  the  arm,  and  to  lead  him  to  the 
lawn,  where  he  had.  a  word  or  two  for  his  private  ear.  The  con- 
ference between  the  young  gentlemen  was  neither  brief  in  its 
duration  nor  unimportant  in  its  result.  The  subject  was  what 
the  lawyers  call  tripartite,  embracing  the  information  that 
Charles  Seaforth  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  Tom 
Ingoldsby's  sister;  secondly,  that  the  lady  had  referred  him 
to  "papa"  for  his  sanction;  thirdly  and  lastly,  his  nightly 
visitations,  and  consequent  bereavement.  At  the  two  first 
items  Tom  smiled  auspiciously — at  the  last  he  burst  out  into 
an  absolute  "  guffaw." 

"Steal  your  breeches  1  Miss  Bailey  over  again,  by  Jove," 
shouted  Ingoldsby.  "  But  a  gentleman,  you  say, — and  Sir  Giles 
too.  I  am  not  sure,  Charles,  whether  I  ought  not  to  call  you 
out  for  aspersing  the  honor  of  the  family." 

"  Laugh  as  you  will,  Tom, — be  as  incredulous  as  you  please. 
One  fact  is  in^^ontestable — the  breeches  are  gone  !  Look  here — 
I  am  reduced  to  my  regimentals;  and  if  these  go,  to-morrow  I 
must  borrow  of  you !" 

Rochefoucauld  says  there  is  something  in  the  misfortunes  of 
our  very  best  friends  that  does  not  displease  us ;  assuredly  we 
can,  most  of  us,  laugh  at  their  petty  inconveniences,  till  called 
upon  to  supply  them.  Tom  composed  his  features  on  the  in- 
stant, and  replied  with  more  gravity,  as  well  as  with  an  exple- 
tive which,  if  my  Lord  Mayor  had  been  within  hearing,  might 
have  cost  him  five  shillings. 

"  There  is  something  very  queer  in  this,  after  all.  The  clothes, 
you  say,  have  positively  disappeared.  Somebody  is  playing  you 
a  trick  ;  and,  ten  to  one,  your  servant  has  a  hand  in  it.  By  the 
way,  I  heard  something  yesterday  of  his  kicking  up  a  bobbery 
in  the  kitchen,  and  seeing  a  ghost,  or  something  of  that  kind, 
himself.  Depend  upon  it,  Barney  is  in  the  plot." 
3 


34  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINQTON. 

It  now  struck  the  lieutenant  at  once  that  the  usually  buoyant 
spirits  of  his  attendant  had  of  late  been  materially  sobered  down, 
his  loquacity  obviously  circumscribed,  and  that  he,  the  said  lieu- 
tenant, had  actually  rung  his  bell  three  several  times  that  very 
morning  before  he  could  procure  his  attendance.  Mr.  Maguire 
was  forthwith  summoned,  and  underwent  a  close  examination. 
The  "bobbery"  was  easily  explained.  Mr.  Oliver  Dobbs  had 
hinted  his  disapprobation  of  a  flirtation  carrying  on  between  the 
gentleman  from  Munster  end  the  lady  from  the  Rue  St.  Honore. 
Mademoiselle  had  boxed  Mr.  Maguire's  ears,  and  Mr.  Maguire 
had  pulled  Mademoiselle  upon  his  knee,  and  the  lady  had  not 
cried  Mon  Dieu  !  And  Mr.  Oliver  Dobbs  said  it  was  very  wrong ; 
and  Mrs.  Botherby  said  it  was  "  scandalous,"  and  what  ought 
not  to  be  done  in  any  moral  kitchen ;  and  Mr.  Maguire  had 
got  hold  of  the  Honorable  Augustus  Sucklethumbkin's  powder- 
flask,  and  had  put  large  pinches  of  the  best  Double  Dartford  into 
Mr.  Dobbs's  tobacco-box ;  and  Mr.  Dobbs's  pipe  had  exploded, 
and  set  fire  to  Mrs.  Botherby's  Sunday  cap ;  and  Mr.  IMaguire 
had  put  it  out  with  the  slop-basin,  "  barring  the  wig ;"  and  then 
they  were  all  so  "  cantankerous  "  that  Barney  had  gone  to  take 
a  walk  in  the  garden ;  and  then — then  Mr.  Barney  had  seen  a 
ghost. 

"A  what?  you  blockhead!"  asked  Tom  Ingoldsby. 

"  Sure  then,  and  it's  meself  will  tell  your  honor  the  rights  of 
it,"  said  the  ghost-seer.  "Meself  and  Miss  Pauline,  sir, — or 
Miss  Pauline  and  meself,  for  the  ladies  comes  first  anyhow, — 
we  got  tired  of  the  hobstroj^pylous  scrimmaging  among  the  ould 
servants,  that  didn't  know  a  joke  when  they  seen  one :  and  we 
went  out  to  look  at  the  comet, — that's  the  rorybory-alehouse, 
they  calls  him  in  this  country, — and  we  walked  upon  the  lawn, 
— and  divil  of  any  alehouse  there  was  there  at  all ;  and  Miss 
Pauline  said  it  was  bekase  of  the  shrubbery  maybe,  and  why 
wouldn't  we  see  it  better  beyonst  the  trees  ?  and  so  we  went  to 
the  trees,  but  sorrow  a  comet  did  meself  see  there,  barring  a  big 
ghost  instead  of  it." 

"  A  ghost  ?     And  what  sort  of  a  ghost,  Barney  ?" 

"  Och,  then,  divil  a  lie  I'll  tell  your  honor.  A  tall  ould  gen- 
tleman he  was,  all  in  white,  with  a  shovel  on  the  shoulder  of 
him,  and  a  big  torch  in  his  fist, — though  what  he  wanted  Avith 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPING  TON:  35 

that  it's  meself  can't  tell,  for  his  eyes  were  like  gig-lamps,  let 
aloue  the  moon  and  the  comet,  which  wasn't  there  at  all : — and 
'  Barney,'  says  he  to  me, — 'cause  why  he  knew  me, — '  Barney,' 
says  he, '  what  is  it  you're  doing  with  the  colleen  there,  Barney  ?' 
Divil  a  word  did  I  say.  Miss  Pauline  screeched,  and  cried 
murther  in  French,  and  ran  off  with  herself;  and  of  course 
meself  was  in  a  mighty  hurry  after  the  lady,  and  had  no  time 
to  stop  palavering  with  him  any  way :  so  I  dispersed  at  once,  and 
the  ghost  vanished  in  a  flame  of  fire !" 

Mr.  Maguire's  account  was  received  with  avowed  incredulity 
by  both  gentlemen ;  but  Barney  stuck  to  his  text  with  unflinch- 
ing pertinacity.  A  reference  to  Mademoiselle  was  suggested, 
but  abandoned,  as  neither  party  had  a  taste  for  delicate  inves- 
tigations. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Seaforth,"  said  Ingoldsby,  after  Barney 
bad  received  his  dismissal,  "  that  there  is  a  trick  here  is  evident ; 
and  Barney's  vision  may  possibly  be  a  part  of  it.  Whether  he 
is  most  knave  or  fool  you  best  know.  At  all  events,  I  will  sit 
up  with  you  to-night,  and  see  if  I  can  convert  my  ancestor  into 
a  visiting  acquaintance.     Meanwhile  your  finger  on  your  lip !" 


"  'Twas  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night. 
When  churchyards  yawn,  and  graves  give  up  their  dead." 

Gladly  would  I  grace  my  tale  with  decent  horror,  and  there- 
fore I  do  beseech  the  "  gentle  reader"  to  believe  that  if  all  the 
succedanea  to  this  mysterious  narrative  are  not  in  strict  keeping, 
he  will  ascribe  it  only  to  the  disgraceful  innovations  of  modern 
degeneracy  upon  the  sober  and  dignified  habits  of  our  ancestors. 
I  can  introduce  him,  it  is  true,  into  an  old  and  high-roof  cham- 
ber, its  walls  covered  on  three  sides  with  black  oak  wainscoting, 
adorned  with  carvings  of  fruit  and  flowers  long  anterior  to  those  of 
Grinling  Gibbons  ;  the  fourth  side  is  clothed  with  a  curious  rem- 
nant of  dingy  tapestry,  once  elucidatory  of  some  Scriptural  his- 
tory, but  of  which  not  even  Mrs.  Botherby  could  determine.  Mr. 
Simpkinson,  who  had  examined  it  carefully,  inclined  to  believe 
the  principal  figure  to  be  either  Bathsheba,  or  Daniel  in  the 


36  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

lions'  den  ;  while  Tom  Ingoldsby  decided  in  favor  of  the  King  of 
Bashau.  All,  however,  was  conjecture,  tradition  being  silent  on 
the  subject.  A  lofty  arched  portal  led  into,  and  a  little  arched 
portal  led  out  of,  this  apartment ;  they  were  opposite  each  other, 
and  each  possessed  the  security  of  massy  bolts  on  its  interior. 
The  bedstead,  too,  was  not  one  of  yesterday,  but  manifestly 
coeval  with  days  ere  Seddous  was,  and  when  a  good  four-post 
"article"  was  deemed  worthy  of  being  a  royal  bequest.  The 
bed  itself,  with  all  the  appurtenances  of  palliasse,  mattresses, 
etc.,  was  of  far  later  date,  and  looked  most  incongruously  com- 
fortable; the  casements,  too,  with  their  little  diamond-shaped 
panes  and  iron  binding,  had  given  way  to  the  modern  hetero- 
doxy of  the  sash-window.  Nor  was  this  all  that  conspired  to 
ruin  the  costume,  and  render  the  room  a  meet  haunt  for  such 
"mixed  spirits"  only  as  could  condescend  to  don  at  the  same 
time  an  Elizabethan  doublet  and  Bond-Street  inexpressibles. 

With  their  green  morocco  slippers  on  a  modern  fender,  in 
front  of  a  disgracefully  modern  grate,  sat  two  young  gentlemen, 
clad  in  "  shawl-pattern "  dressing-gowns  and  black  silk  stocks, 
much  at  variance  with  the  high  cane-backed  chairs  which  sup- 
ported them.  A  bunch  of  abomination,  called  a  cigar,  reeked 
in  the  left-hand  corner  of  the  mouth  of  one,  and  in  the  right- 
hand  corner  of  the  mouth  of  the  other — an  arrangement  hap- 
pily adapted  for  the  escape  of  the  noxious  fumes  up  the  chim- 
ney without  that  unmerciful  "funking"  each  other  which  a 
less  scientific  disposition  of  the  weed  would  have  induced.  A 
small  i^embroke  table  filled  up  the  intervening  space  between 
them,  sustaining,  at  each  extremity,  an  elbow  and  a  glass  of 
toddy — thus  in  "lonely  pensive  contemplation"  were  the  two 
worthies  occupied,  when  the  "iron  tongue  of  midnight  had 
tolled  twelve." 

"  Ghost-time's  come !"  said  Ingoldsby,  taking  from  his  waist- 
coat pocket  a  watch  like  a  gold  half-crown,  and  consulting  it 
as  though  he  susjDCcted  the  turret-clock  over  the  stables  of  men- 
dacity. 

"  Hush !"  said  Charles ;  "  did  I  not  hear  a  footstep  ?" 

There  was  a  pause : — there  was  a  footstep — it  sounded  dis- 
tinctly— it  reached  the  door — it  hesitated,  stopped,  and — passed 
on. 


THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINGTON.  37 

Tom  darted  across  the  room,  threw  open  the  door,  and  became 
Lware  of  Mrs.  Botherby  toddling  to  her  chamber,  at  the  other 
snd  of  the  gallery,  after  dosiug  one  of  the  housemaids  with  an 
ipp roved  julep  from  the  Countess  of  Kent's  Choice  Manual. 

"  Good-night,  sir !"  said  Mrs.  Botherby. 

"  Go  to  the  d — 1 !"  said  the  disappointed  ghost-hunter. 

An  hour — two — rolled  on,  and  still  no  spectral  visitation, 
lor  did  aught  intervene  to  make  night  hideous ;  and  when  the 
urret-clock  sounded  at  length  the  hour  of  three,  Ingoldsby, 
vhose  patience  and  grog  were  alike  exhausted,  sprang  from  his 
ihair,  saying — 

"  This  is  all  infernal  nonsense,  my  good  fellow.  Deuce  of 
my  ghost  shall  we  see  to-night;  it's  long  past  the  canonical 
lOur.  I'm  off  to  bed  ;  and  as  to  your  breeches,  I'll  insure  them 
"or  the  next  twenty -four  hours  at  least,  at  the  price  of  the  buck- 
•am." 

"  Certainly. — Oh !  thank'ee — to  be  sure !"  stammered  Charles, 
'ousing  himself  from  a  reverie  which  had  degenerated  into  an 
ibsolute  snooze. 

"  Good-night,  my  boy !  Bolt  the  door  behind  me ;  and  defy 
he  Pope,  the  Devil,  and  the  Pretender !" 

Seaforth  followed  his  friend's  advice,  and  the  next  morning 
;ame  down  to  breakfast  dressed  in  the  habiliments  of  the  pre- 
leding  day.  The  charm  was  broken,  the  demon  defeated ;  the 
ight  grays  with  the  red  stripe  down  the  seams  were  yet  in  rerum 
laturd,  and  adorned  the  person  of  their  lawful  proprietor. 

Tom  felicitated  himself  and  his  partner  of  the  watch  on  the 
•esult  of  their  vigilance;  but  there  is  a  rustic  adage  which 
varns  us  against  self-gratulation  before  we  are  quite  "  out  of 
;he  wood." — Seaforth  was  yet  within  its  verge. 


A  rap  at  Tom  Ingoldsby's  door  the  following  morning  startled 
lim  as  he  was  shaving — he  cut  his  chin. 

"  Come  in,  and  be  d— d  to  you !"  said  the  martyr,  pressing 
lis  thumb  on  the  scarified  epidermis.  The  door  opened,  and 
exhibited  Mr.  Barney  Maguire. 


38  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  j 

"Well,  Barney,  what  is  it?"  quoth  the  sufferer,  adopting  the 
vernacular  of  his  visitant. 

"  The  master,  sir " 

"  Well,  what  does  he  want?" 

*'  The  loanst  of  a  breeches,  plase  your  honor." 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me By  Heaven,  this  is  too 

good  !"  shouted  Tom,  bursting  into  a  fit  of  uncontrollable  laugh- 
ter. "  Why,  Barney,  you  don't  mean  to  say  the  ghost  has  got 
them  again?" 

Mr.  Maguire  did  not  respond  to  the  young  squire's  risibility ; 
the  cast  of  his  countenance  was  decidedly  serious. 

"  Faith,  then,  it's  gone  they  are,  sure  enough  !  Hasn't  meself 
been  looking  over  the  bed,  and  under  the  bed,  and  in  the  bed, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  and  divil  a  ha'p'orth  of  breeches  is  there 
to  the  fore  at  all : — I'm  bothered  entirely !" 

"  Hark'ee !  Mr.  Barney,"  said  Tom,  incautiously  removing 
his  thumb  and  letting  a  crimson  stream  "  incarnadine  the  mul- 
titudinous "  lather  that  plastered  his  throat — "  this  may  be  all 
very  well  with  your  master,  but  you  don't  humbug  me,  sir : — 
tell  me  instantly  what  have  you  done  with  the  clothes  ?" 

This  abrupt  transition  from  "  lively  to  severe"  certainly  took 
Maguire  by  surprise,  and  he  seemed  for  an  instant  as  much  dis- 
concerted as  it  is  possible  to  disconcert  an  Irish  gentleman's 
gentleman. 

"  Me  ?  is  it  meself,  then,  that's  the  ghost  to  your  honor's  think- 
ing ?"  said  he  after  a  moment's  pause,  and  with  a  slight  shade 
of  indignation  in  his  tones :  "  is  it  I  would  stale  the  master's 
things — and  what  would  I  do  with  them  ?" 

"  That  you  best  know : — what  your  purpose  is  I  can't  guess, 
for  I  don't  think  you  mean  to  '  stale '  them,  as  you  call  it ;  but 
that  you  are  concerned  in  their  disappearance,  I  am  satisfied. 
Confound  this  blood ! — give  me  a  towel,  Barney." 

Maguire  acquitted  himself  of  the  commission.  "As  I've  a 
sowl,  your  honor,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "  little  it  is  meself  knows 
of  the  matter :  and  after  what  I  seen " 

"  What  you've  seen !  Why,  what  have  you  seen  ? — Barney, 
I  don't  want  to  inquire  into  your  flirtations ;  but  don't  suppose 
you  can  palm  off  your  saucer  eyes  and  gig-lamps  upon  me !" 

"  Then,  as  sure  as  your  honor's  standing  there,  I  saw  him ; 


I 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  39 

and  why  wouldn't  I,  when  Miss  Pauline  was  to  the  fore  as  well 
as  meself,  and " 

"  Get  along  with  your  nonsense — leave  the  room,  sir !" 

"  But  the  master  ?"  said  Barney,  imploringly ;  "  and  without 
a  breeches  ? — sure  he'll  be  catching  cowld ! "  ' 

"  Take  that,  rascal !"  replied  Ingoldsby,  throwing  a  pair  of 
pantaloons  at,  rather  than  to,  him  :  "  but  don't  suppose,  sir,  you 
shall  carry  on  your  tricks  here  with  impunity ;  recollect  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  a  treadmill,  and  that  my  father  is  a  county 
magistrate.'' 

Barney's  eye  flashed  fire — he  stood  erect,  and  was  about  to 
speak  ;  but,  mastering  himself,  not  without  an  efibrt,  he  took  up 
the  garment,  and  left  the  room  as  perpendicular  as  a  Quaker. 


"  Ingoldsby,"  said  Charles  Seaforth,  after  breakfast,  "  this  is 
now  past  a  joke ;  to-day  is  the  last  of  my  stay  ;  for,  notwith- 
standing the  ties  which  detain  me,  common  decency  obliges  me 
to  visit  home  after  so  long  an  absence,  I  shall  come  to  an  im- 
mediate explanation  with  your  father  on  the  subject  nearest  my 
heart,  and  depart  while  I  have  a  change  of  dress  left.  On  his 
answer  will  my  return  depend !  In  the  meantime  tell  me  can- 
didly,— I  ask  it  in  all  seriousness,  and  as  a  friend, — am  I  not  a 
dupe  to  your  well-known  propensity  to  hoaxing  ?  have  you  not 

a  hand  in " 

"  No,  by  heaven,  Seaforth ;  I  see  what  you  mean :  on  my 
honor,  I  am  as  much  mystified  as  yourself;  and  if  your  serv- 
ant  " 

"  Not  he : — if  there  be  a  trick,  he  at  least  is  not  privy  to  it." 

"If  there  he  a  trick?  why,  Charles,  do  you  think " 

"  I  know  not  what  to  think,  Tom.  As  surely  as  you  are  a 
living  man,  so  surely  did  that  spectral  anatomy  visit  my  room 
again  last  night,  grin  in  my  face,  and  walk  away  with  my 
trousers :  nor  was  I  able  to  spring  from  my  bed,  or  break  the 
chain  which  seemed  to  bind  me  to  my  pillow." 

"  Seaforth  !"  said  Ingoldsby,  after  a  short  pause,  "  I  will 

But  hush  !  here  are  the  girls  and  my  father. — I  will  carry  off 


40  THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON. 

the  females,  and  leave  you  a  clear  field  Avith  the  governoi*: 
carry  your  point  with  him,  and  we  will  talk  about  your  breeches 
afterwards." 

Tom's  diversion  was  successful ;  he  carried  off  the  ladies  en 
viase  to.  look  at  a  remarkable  specimen  of  the  class  Dodecan- 
dria  Monogynia, — which  they  could  not  find ; — while  Seaforth 
marched  boldly  up  to  the  encounter,  and  carried  "the  gov- 
ernor's" outworks  by  a  coup  de  main.  I  shall  not  stop  to 
describe  the  progress  of  the  attack;  suffice  it  that  it  was  as 
successful  as  could  have  been  wished,  and  that  Seaforth  was 
referred  back  again  to  the  lady.  The  happy  lover  was  off  at  a 
tangent ;  the  botanical  party  was  soon  overtaken ;  and  the  arm 
of  Caroline,  whom  a  vain  endeavor  to  spell  out  the  Linnsean 
name  of  a  daffy-down-dilly  had  detained  a  little  in  the  rear 
of  the  others,  was  soon  firmly  locked  in  his  own. 

"  What  was  the  world  to  them, 
Its  noise,  its  nonsense,  and  its  '  breeches,'  all  ?" 

Seaforth  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  ;  he  retired  to  his  room  that 
night  as  happy  as  if  no  such  thing  as  a  goblin  had  ever  been 
heard  of,  and  personal  chattels  were  as  well  fenced  in  by  law 
as  real  property.  Not  so  .Tom  Ingoldsby :  the  mystery, — for 
mystery  there  evidently  was, — had  not  only  piqued  his  curiosity, 
but  ruffled  his  temper.  The  watch  of  the  previous  night  had 
been  unsuccessful,  probably  because  it  was  undisguised.  To- 
night he  would  "  ensconce  himself,"  not  indeed  "  behind  the 
arras," — for  the  little  that  remained  was,  as  we  have  seen,  nailed 
to  the  wall, — but  in  a  small  closet  which  opened  from  one  corner 
of  the  room,  and,  by  leaving  the  door  ajar,  would  give  to  its 
occupant  a  view  of  all  that  might  pass  in  the  apartment.  Here 
did  the  young  ghost-hunter  take  up  a  position,  with  a  good  stout 
sapling  under  his  arm,  a  full  half-hour  before  Seaforth  retired 
for  the  night.  Not  even  his  friend  did  he  let  into  his  confi- 
dence, fully  determined  that  if  his  plan  did  not  succeed,  the 
failure  should  be  attributed  to  himself  alone. 

At  the  usual  hour  of  separation  for  the  night,  Tom  saw,  from 
his  concealment,  the  lieutenant  enter  his  room,  and  after  taking 
a  few  turns  in  it,  with  an  expression  so  joyous  as  to  betoken 
that  his  thoughts  were  mainly  occupied  by  his  approaching  hap- 


THE  SPECTRE   OF  TAPPINGTON.  41 

piness,  proceed  slowly  to  disrobe  himself.  The  coat,  the  waist- 
coat, the  black  silk  stock,  were  gradually  discarded ;  the  green 
morocco  slippers  were  kicked  off,  aud  then — ay,  and  then — his 
countenance  grew  grave ;  it  seemed  to  occur  to  him  all  at  once 
that  this  was  his  last  stake, — nay,  that  the  very  breeches  he  had 
on  were  not  his  own, — that  to-morrow  morning  was  his  last,  and 

that  if  he  lost  them .     A  glance  showed  that  his  mind  was 

made  up ;  he  replaced  the  single  button  he  had  just  subducted, 
and  threw  himself  upon  the  bed  in  a  state  of  transition, — half 
chrysalis,  half  grub. 

"Wearily  did  Tom  Ingoldsby  watch  the  sleeper  by  the  flicker- 
ing light  of  the  night-lamp,  till  the  clock  striking  one  induced 
him  to  increase  the  narrow  opening  which  he  had  left  for  the 
purpose  of  observation.  The  motion,  slight  as  it  was,  seemed 
to  attract  Charles's  attention ;  for  he  raised  himself  suddenly 
to  a  sitting  posture,  listened  for  a  moment,  and  then  stood  up- 
right upon  the  floor.  Ingoldsby  was  on  the  point  of  discovering 
himself,  when,  the  light  flashing  full  upon  his  friend's  counte- 
nance, he  perceived  that,  though  his  eyes  were  open,  "  their 
sense  was  shut," — that  he  was  yet  under  the  influence  of  sleep. 
Seaforth  advanced  slowly  to  the  toilet,  lit  his  candle  at  the  lamp 
that  stood  on  it,  then,  going  back  to  the  bed's  foot,  appeared  to 
search  eagerly  for  something  which  he  could  not  find.  For  a 
few  moments  he  seemed  restless  and  uneasy,  walking  round  the 
apartment  and  examining  the  chairs,  till,  coming  fully  in  front 
of  a  large  swing  glass  that  flanked  the  dressing-table,  he  paused 
as  if  contemplating  his  figure  in  it.  He  now  returned  towards 
the  bed;  put  on  his  slippers,  and  with  cautious  and  stealthy 
steps  proceeded  towards  the  little  arched  doorway  that  opened 
on  the  private  staircase. 

As  he  drew  the  bolt,  Tom  Ingoldsby  emerged  from  his  hiding- 
place  ;  but  the  sleep-walker  heard  him  not ;  he  proceeded  softly 
down  stairs,  followed  at  a  due  distance  by  his  friend ;  opened  the 
door  which  led  out  upon  the  gardens ;  and  stood  at  once  among 
the  thickest  of  the  shrubs,  which  there  clustered  round  the  base 
of  a  corner  turret,  and  screened  the  postern  from  common  obser- 
vation. At  this  moment  Ingoldsby  had  nearly  spoiled  all  by 
making  a  false  step :  the  sound  attracted  Seaforth's  attention, — 
he  paused  and  turned ;  and,  as  the  full  moon  shed  her  light 


42  THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINGTON. 

directly  upon  his  pale  and  troubled  features,  Tom  marked^ 
almost  with  dismay,  the  fixed  and  rayless  appearance  of  his 
eyes  :— 

"  There  was  no  speculation  in  those  orbs 
That  he  did  glare  withal." 

The  perfect  stillness  preserved  by  his  follower  seemed  to  reassure 
him ;  he  turned  aside,  and  from  the  midst  of  a  thickset  laurus- 
tinus  drew  forth  a  gardener's  spade,  shouldering  which  he  pro- 
ceeded with  greater  rapidity  into  the  midst  of  the  shrubbery. 
Arrived  at  a  certain  point  where  the  earth  seemed  to  have  been 
recently  disturbed,  he  set  himself  heartily  to  the  task  of  digging, 
till,  having  thrown  up  several  shovelfuls  of  mould,  he  stopped, 
flung  down  his  tool,  and  very  composedly  began  to  disencumber 
himself  of  his  pantaloons. 

Up  to  this  moment  Tom  had  watched  him  with  a  wary  eye  : 
he  now  advanced  cautiously,  and,  as  his  friend  was  busily  en- 
gaged in  disentangling  himself  from  his  garment,  made  himself 
master  of  the  spade.  Seaforth,  meanwhile,  had  accomplished 
his  purpose :  he  stood  for  a  moment  with 

"His  streamers  waving  in  the  wind," 

occupied  in  carefully  rolling  up  the  small-clothes  into  as  com- 
pact a  form  as  possible,  and  all  heedless  of  the  breath  of  heaven, 
which  might  certainly  be  supposed  at  such  a  moment,  and  in 
such  a  plight,  to  "  visit  his  frame  too  roughly." 

He  was  in  the  act  of  stooping  low  to  deposit  the  pantaloons 
in  the  grave  which  he  had  been  digging  for  them,  when  Tom 
Ingoldsby  came  close  behind  him,  and  with  the  flat  side  of  the 
spade 


The  shock  was  efiectual ; — never  again  was  Lieutenant  Sea- 
forth known  to  act  the  part  of  a  somnambulist.  One  by  one, 
his  breeches, — his  trousers, — his  pantaloons, — his  silk-net  tights, 
— his  patent  cords, — his  showy  grays  with  the  broad  red  stripe 
of  the  Bombay  Fencibles,  were  brought  to  light, — rescued  from 
the  grave  in  which  they  had  been  buried,  like  the  strata  of  a 


THE  SrECTRE  OF  TAmNGTON.  43 

Christmas  pie ;  and  after  having  been  well  aired  by  Mrs.  Both- 
erby,  became  once  again  effective. 

The  family,  the  ladies  especially,  laughed  ; — the  Peterses 
laughed ; — the  Simpkiusons  laughed  ; — Barney  Maguire  cried 
"  Botheration  !"  and  Mam'selle  Pauline,  "  Mon  Dieu  !" 

Charles  Seaforth,  unable  to  face  the  quizzing  which  awaited 
him  on  all  sides,  started  off  two  hours  earlier  than  he  had  pro- 
posed : — he  soon  returned,  however ;  and  having,  at  his  father- 
in-law's  request,  given  up  the  occupation  of  Kajah-hunting  and 
shooting  Nabobs,  led  his  blushing  bride  to  the  altar.' 

Mr.  Simpkinson  from  Bath  did  not  attend  the  ceremony,  being 
engaged  at  'the  grand  Junction  meeting  of  sgavans,  then  congre- 
gating from  all  parts  of  the  known  world  in  the  city  of  Dublin. 
His  essay,  demonstrating  that  the  globe  is  a  great  custard, 
whipped  into  coagulation  by  whirlwinds,  and  cooked  by  elec- 
tricity,— a  little  too  much  baked  in  the  Isle  of  Portland,  and  a 
thought  underdone  about  the  Bog  of  Allen, — was  highly  spoken 
of,  and  narrowly  escaped  obtaining  a  Bridgewater  prize. 

Miss  Simpkinson  and  her  sister  acted  as  bridesmaids  on  the 
occasion ;  the  former  wrote  an  epiihalamium,  and  the  latter  cried 
"  Lassy  me !"  at  the  clergyman's  wig.  Some  years  have  since 
rolled  on;  the  union  has  been  crowned  with  two  or  three  tidy 
little  offshoots  from  the  family  tree,  of  whom  Master  Neddy  is 
"  grandpapa's  darling,"  and  Mary  Anne  mamma's  particular 
"  Sock."  I  shall  only  add,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seaforth  are  living 
together  quite  as  happily  as  two  good-hearted,  good-tempered 
bodies,  very  fond  of  each  other,  can  possibly  do;  and  that, 
since  the  day  of  his  marriage,  Charles  has  shown  no  disposi- 
tion to  jump  out  of  bed,  or  ramble  out  of  doors  o'nights, — 
though  from  his  entire  devotion  to  every  wish  and  whim  of  his 
young  wife,  Tom  insinuates  that  the  fair  Caroline  does  still 
occasionally  take  advantage  of  it  so  far  as  to  "  slip  on  the 
breeches." 


It  was  not  till  some  years  after  the  events  just  recorded  that 
Miss  Mary  Anne,  the  "pet  Sock"  before  alluded  to,  was  made 
acquainted  with  the  following  piece  of  family  biography.  It  Avas 
communicated  to  her  in  strict  confidence  by  Nurse  Botherby,  a 


44  THE  NURSE'S  STORY, 

maiden  niece  of  the  old  lady's,  then  recently  promoted  from  the 
ranks  in  the  still-room,  to  be  second  in  command  in  the  nursery 
department. 

The  story  is  connected  with  a  dingy  wizen-faced  portrait,  in 
an  oval  frame,  generally  known  by  the  name  of  "  Uncle  Ste- 
phen," though  from  the  style  of  his  cut-velvet  it  is  evident  that 
some  generations  must  have  passed  away  since  any  living  being 
could  have  stood  towards  him  in  that  degree  of  consanguinity. 


THE    NURSE'S   STORY. 


^f)c  i^anlT  of  (Klors. 

"Malefica  quaedam  auguriatrix  in  Anglia  fuit,  quam  deraones  horribiliter  extrax- 
erunt,  et  Imponcntes  super  eqiuim  terribilem,  per  acra  rapuenint ;  Clamoresque 
terribiles  (ut  ferunt)  per  quatuor  ferine  miliaria  audiebanlur." — Nuremb.  Chron. 

ON  the  lone  bleak  moor,     At  the  midnight  hour, 
Beneath  the  Gallows  Tree, 

Hand  in  hand    The  Murderers  stand 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three ! 

And  the  Moon  that  night    With  a  gray,  cold  light 
Each  baleful  object  tips ; 

One  half  of  her  form     Is  seen  through  the  storm. 
The  other  half's  hid  in  Eclipse ! 

And  the  cold  Wind  howls,     And  the  Thunder  growls, 
And  the  Lightning  is  broad  and  bright ; 

And  altogether    It's  very  bad  weather, 
And  an  unpleasant  sort  of  a  night ! 

"  Now  mount  who  list.     And  close  by  the  wrist 
Sever  me  quickly  the  Dead  Man's  fist ! —    ' 

Now  climb  who  dare     Where  he  swings  in  air. 
And  pluck  me  five  locks  of  the  Dead  Man's  hair !" 


THE  HAND    OF   GLORY.  45 

There's  an  old  woman  dwells  upon  Tappiugton  Moor, 

She  hath  years  on  her  back  at  the  least  fourscore, 

And  some  people  fancy  a  great  many  more ; 

Her  nose  it  is  hook'd,     Her  back  it  is  crook'd, 
Her  eyes  blear  and  red :     On  the  top  of  her  head 
Is  a  mutch,  and  on  that    A  shocking  bad  hat, 

Extinguisher-shaped,  the  brim  narrow  and  flat ! 

Then, — my  gracious ! — her  beard ! — it  would  sadly  perplex 

A  spectator  at  first  to  distinguish  her  sex ; 

Nor,  I'll  venture  to  say,  without  scrutiny  could  he 

Pronounce  her,  off-handed,  a  Punch  or  a  Judy. 

Did  you  see  her,  in  short,  that  mud-hovel  within. 

With  her  knees  to  her  nose,  and  her  nose  to  her  chin, 

Leering  up  with  that  queer,  indescribable  grin, 

You'd  lift  up  your  hands  in  amazement,  and  cry, 

"  — Well ! — I  never  did  see  such  a  regular  Guy !" 


And  now  before    That  Old  Woman's  door, 
Where  nought  that's  good  may  be. 

Hand  in  hand     The  Murderers  stand 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three ! 
Oh !  'tis  a  horrible  sight  to  view. 
In  that  horrible  hovel,  that  horrible  crew. 
By  the  pale  blue  glare  of  that  flickering  flame. 
Doing  the  deed  that  hath  never  a  name ! 

'Tis  awful  to  hear    Those  words  of  fear ! 
The  prayer  mutter'd  backwards  and  said  with  a  sneer ! 
(Matthew  Hopkins  himself  has  assured  us  that  when 
A  witch  says  her  prayers,  she  begins  with  "Amen.") — 

— 'Tis  awful  to  see    On  that  Old  Woman's  knee 
The  dead,  shrivell'd  hand,  as  she  clasps  it  with  glee ! — 

And  now  with  care.     The  five  locks  of  hair 
From  the  skull  of  the  Gentleman  dangling  up  there. 

With  the  grease  and  the  fat     Of  a  black  Tom  Cat 

She  hastens  to  mix.     And  to  twist  into  wicks, 
And  one  on  the  thumb  and  each  finger  to  fix. — 
(For  another  receipt  the  same  charm  to  prepare, 
Consult  Mr.  Ainsworth  and  Petit  Albert.) 


46  THE  NURSE'S  STORY. 

"  Now  open  lock     To  the  Dead  Man's  knock ! 
Fly  bolt,  and  bar,  and  baud ! — 
Nor  move,  nor  swerve    Joint,  muscle,  or  nerve. 
At  the  spell  of  the  Dead  Man's  hand ! 
•Sleep  all  who  sleep ! — Wake  all  who  wake ! — 
But  be  as  the  Dead  for  the  Dead  Man's  sake ! 


All  is  silent !  all  is  still, 

Save  the  ceaseless  moan  of  the  bubbling  rill 

As  it  wells  from  the  bosom  of  Tappington  Hill, 

And  in  Tappington  Hall     Great  and  Small, 
Gentle  and  Simple,  Squire  and  Groom, 
Each  one  hath  sought  his  separate  room. 
And  Sleep  her  dark  mantle  hath  o'er  them  cast, 
For  the  midnight  hour  hath  long  been  past ! 
All  is  darksome  in  earth  and  sky. 
Save,  from  yon  casement,  narrow  and  high, 

A  quivering  beam     On  the  tiny  stream 
Plays,  like  some  taper's  fitful  gleam 
By  one  thai  is  watching  wearily. 

Within  that  casement,  narrow  and  high, 
In  his  secret  lair,  where  none  may  spy. 
Sits  one  whose  brow  is  wrinkled  with  care, 
And  the  thin  gray  locks  of  his  failing  hair 
Have  left  his  little  bald  pate  all  bare ; 

For  his  full-bottom'd  wig    Hangs,  liushy  and  big, 
On  the  top  of  his  old-fashiou'd,  high-back'd  chair. 

Unbraced  are  his  clothes,     Ungarter'd  his  hose, 
His  gown  is  bedizen'd  with  tulip  and  rose, 
Flowers  of  remarkable  size  and  hue, 
Flowers  such  as  Eden  never  knew ; 
— And  there  by  many  a  sparkling  heap 

Of  the  good  red  gold.     The  tale  is  told 
What  powerful  spell  avails  to  keep 
That  careworn  man  from  his  needful  sleep ! 
Haply  he  deems  no  eye  can  see 
As  he  gloats  on  his  treasure  greedily, — 


THE  HAND    OF  GLORY.  47 

The  shining  store    Of  glittering  ore, 
The  fair  rose-noble,  the  bright  moidore, 
And  the  broad  Double-Joe  from  ayont  the  sea, — 
But  there's  one  that  watches  as  well  as  he ; 

For,  wakeful  and  sly.     In  a  closet  hard  by. 
On  his  truckle  bed  lieth  a  little  Foot-page, 
A  boy  who's  uncommonly  sharp  of  his  age. 

Like  young  Master  Horner,     Who  erst  in  a  corner 

Sat  eating  a  Christmas  pie : 
And,  while  that  Old  Gentleman's  counting  his  hoards, 
Little  Hugh  peeps  through,  a  crack  in  the  boards ! 


There's  a  voice  in  the  air,     There's  a  step  on  the  stair. 
The  old  man  starts  in  his  cane-back'd  chair ; 

At  the  first  faint  sound     He  gazes  around. 
And  holds  up  his  dip  of  sixteen  to  the  pound. 

Then  half  arose    From  beside  his  toes 
His  little  pug-dog  with  his  little  pug  nose, 
But,  ere  he  can  vent  one  inquisitive  sniff. 
That  little  pug-dog  stands  stark  and  stiff, 

For  low,  yet  clear,     Now  fall  on  the  ear, 
— Where  once  pronounced  for  ever  they  dwell — 
The  unh-oly  words  of  the  Dead  Man's  spell ! 

"  Open  lock    To  the  Dead  Man's  knock ! 

Fly  bolt,  and  bar,  and  band ! — 

Nor  move,  nor  swerve     Joint,  muscle,  or  nerve, 
At  the  spell  of  the  Dead  Man's  hand ! 
Sleep  all  who  sleep ! — Wake  all  who  wake ! — 
But  be  as  the  Dead  for  the  Dead  Man's  sake !" 

Now  lock,  nor  bolt,  nor  bar  avails. 

Nor  stout  oak  panel  thick-studded  with  nails. 

Heavy  and  harsh  the  hinges  creak, 

Though  they  had  been  oil'd  in  the  course  of  the  week ; 

The  door  opens  wide  as  wide  may  be. 

And  there  they  stand,     That  murderous  band, 
Lit  by  the  light  of  the  Glorious  Hand, 

By  one ! — by  two ! — by  three ! 


48  THE  NURSE'S  STORY. 

They  hare  pass'd  through  the  porch,  they  have  pass'd  through 

the  hall, 
Where  the  Porter  sat  snoring  against  the  wall ; 

The  very  snore  froze     In  his  very  snub  nose, 
You'd  have  verily  deeni'd  he  had  snored  his  last 
When  the  Glorious  Hand  by  the  side  of  him  pass'd ! 
E'en  the  little  wee  mouse,  as  it  ran  o'er  the  mat 
At  the  top  of  its  speed  to  escape  from  the  cat. 

Though  half  dead  with  affright,     Paused  in  its  flight ; 
And  the  cat  that  was  chasing  that  little  Avee  thing 
Lay  couch' d  as  a  statue  in  act  to  spring ! 

And  now  they  are  there,     On  the  head  of  the  stair, 
And  the  long  crooked  w^hittle  is  gleaming  and  bare ! 
— I  really  don't  think  any  money  would  bribe 
Me  the  horrible  scene  that  ensued  to  describe, 

Or  the  wild,  wild  glare     Of  that  old  man's  eye, 

His  dumb  despair,  and  deep  agony. 

The  kid  from  the  pen,  and  the  lamb  from  the  fold, 
Unmoved  may  the  blade  of  the  butcher  behold ; 
They  dream  not — ah,  happier  they  ! — that  the  knife, 
Though  uplifted,  can  menace  their  innocent  life ; 
It  falls ; — the  frail  thread  of  their  being  is  riven, 
They  dread  not,  suspect  not,  the  blow  till  'tis  giveu- 
But,  oh !  what  a  thing  'tis  to  see  and  to  know 
That  the  bare  knife  is  raised  in  the  hand  of  the  foe, 
Without  hope  to  repel,  or  to  Avard  off  the  blow ! — 
— Enough ! — let's  pass  over  as  fast  as  we  can 
The  fate  of  that  gray,  that  unhaj)j)y  old  man ! 

But  fancy  poor  Hugh,     Aghast  at  the  view, 

Powerless  alike  to  speak  or  to  do ! 

In  vain  doth  he  try     To  open  the  eye 
That  is  shut,  or  close  that  which  is  clapt  to  the  chink. 
Though  he'd  give  all  the  world  to  be  able  to  Avink ! — 
No ! — for  all  that  this  world  can  give  or  refuse, 
I  would  not  be  now  in  that  little  boy's  shoes. 
Or  indeed  any  garment  at  all  that  is  Hugh's ! 


THE  HAND    OF  GLORY.  49 

— 'Tis  lucky  for  hira  that  the  chink  iu  the  wall 

He  has  peej)'d  through  so  long,  is  so  narrow  and  small ! 

• 
Wailing  voices,  sounds  of  woe 

Such  as  follow  departing  friends, 
That  fatal  night  round  Tappington  go. 

Its  long-drawn  roofs  and  its  gable  ends : 
Ethereal  Spirits,  gentle  and  good. 

Aye  weep  and  lament  o'er  a  deed  of  blood. 


'Tis  early  dawn — the  morn  is  gray. 

And  the  clouds  and  the  tempest  have  pass'd  away. 

And  all  things  betoken  a  very  fine  day ; 

But,  while  the  lark  her  carol  is  singing. 

Shrieks  and  screams  are  through.  Tappington  ringing. 

Upstarting  all.     Great  and  small, 
Each  one  who's  found  within  Tappington  Hall, 
Gentle  and  Simple,  Squire  or  Groom, 
All  seek  at  once  that  Old  Gentleman's  rootn ; 

And  there,  on  the  floor,     Drench'd  in  its  gore, 
A  ghastly  corpse  lies  exposed  to  the  view. 
Carotid  and  jugular  both  cut  through ! 

And  there,  by  its  side,     'Mid  the  crimson  tide, 
Kneels  a  little  Foot-page  of  tenderest  years ; 
Adown  his  pale  cheek  the  fast-falling  tears 
Are  coursing  each  other  round  and  big. 
And  he's  stanching  the  blood  with  a  full-bottom'd  wig. 
Alas !  and  alack  for  his  stanching ! — 'tis  plain, 
As  anatomists  tell  us,  that  never  again 
Shall  life  revisit  the  foully  slain. 
When  once  they've  been  cut  through  the  jugular  vein. 


There's  a  hue  and  a  cry  through  the  County  of  Kent, 
And  in  chase  of  the  cut-throats  a  Constable's  sent. 
But  no  one  can  tell  the  man  which  way  they  went : 
There's  a  little  Foot-page  with  that  Constable  goes, 
And  a  little  pug-dog  with  a  little  pug  nose. 

4 


50  THE  NURSE'S  STORY. 

In  Rochestez-  town,     At  the  sign  of  the  Crown, 
Three  shabby-genteel  men  are  just  sitting  down 
•  To  a  fat  stubble-goose,  with  potatoes  done  brown ; 
When  a  little  Foot-page     Rushes  in,  in  a  rage, 
Upsetting  the  apple-sauce,  onions,  and  sage. 
That  little  Foot-jDage  takes  the  first  by  the  throat, 
And  a  little  pug-dog  takes  the  next  by  the  coat, 
And  a  Constable  seizes  the  one  more  remote ; 
And  fair  rose-nobles  and  broad  moidores 
The  Waiter  jduIIs  out  of  their  pockets  by  scores, 
And  the  Boots  and  the  Chambermaids  run. in  and  stare ; 
And  the  Constable  says,  with  a  dignified  air, 
"  You're  wanted,  Gen'lemen,  one  and  all, 
For  that  'ere  precious  lark  at  Tappington  Hall !" 

There's  a  black  gibbet  frowns  upon  Tappington  Moor, 
Where  a  former  black  gibbet  has  Irowned  before : 

It  is  as  black  as  black  may  be, 

And  murderers  there    Are  dangling  in  air, 

By  one ! — by  two ! — by  three ! 

There's  a  horrid  old  hag  in  a  steeple-crowned  hat, 

Round  her  neck  they  have  tied  to  a  hempen  cravat 

A  Dead  Man's  hand,  and  a  dead  Tom  Cat ! 

They  have  tied  up  her  thumbs,  they  have  tied  up  her  toes, 

They  have  tied  up  her  eyes,  they  have  tied  up  her  limbs ; 
Into  Tappington  mill-dam  souse  she  goes, 

AVith  a  whoop  and  a  halloo !  — "  She  swims ! — She  swims !" 
They  have  dragged  her  to  land.     And  every  one's  hand 

Is  grasping  a  fagot,  a  billet,  or  brand, 
When  a  queer-looking  horseman,  drest  all  in  black, 
Snatches  up  that  old  harridan  just  like  a  sack 
To  the  crupper  behind  him,  puts  spurs  to  his  hack, 
Makes  a  dash  through  the  crowd,  and  is  ofi"  in  a  crack ! 

No  one  can  tell.     Though  they  guess  pretty  well. 
Which  way  that  grim  rider  and  oJd  woman  go, 
For  all  see  he's  a  sort  of  infernal  Ducrow ; 
And  she  screamed  so,  and  cried.     We  may  fairly  decide 
That  the  old  woman  did  not  much  relish  her  ride ! 


''LOOK  AT  THE   CLOCK!"  51 

MORAL. 

This  truest  of  stories  confirms  beyond  doubt 
That  truest  of  adages — " Murder  will  out!" 
lu  vain  may  the  blood-spiller  "  double  "  and  fly, 
In  vaiu  even  witchcraft  and  sorcery  try : 
Although  for  a  time  he  may  'scape,  by-and-by 
He'll  be  sure  to  be  caught  by  a  Hugh  and  a  Cry ! 


One  marvel  follows  another  as  naturally  as  one  "  shoulder 
of  mutton"  is  said  "to  drive  another  down."  A  little  Welsh 
girl,  who  sometimes  makes  her  way  from  the  kitchen  into  the 
nursery,  after  listening  with  intense  interest  to  this  tale,  imme- 
diately started  ofi"  at  score  with  the  sum  and  substance  of  what, 
in  due  reverence  for  such  authority,  I  shall  call 

PATTY  MORGAN  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY. 


^^Hoolt  at  tje  mtittr 

FYTTE   I. 

"  T   OOK  at  the  clock !"  quoth  Winifred  Pryce, 

JLi     As  she  opened  the  door  to  her  husband's  knock, 
Then  paused  to  give  him  a  piece  of  advice, 

"  You  nasty  Warmint,  look  at  the  Clock ! 

Is  this  the  way,  you     Wretch,  every  day  you 
Treat  her  who  vowed  to  love  and  obey  you  ? — 

Out  all  night !     Me  in  a  fright ; 
Staggering  home  as  it's  just  getting  light! 
You  intoxified  brute ! — you  insensible  block ! — 
Look  at  the  Clock ! — Do ! — Look  at  the  Clock !" 

Winifred  Pryce  was  tidy  and  clean, 

Her  gown  was  a  flowered  one,  her  petticoat  green, 


52  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY. 

Pier  buckles  were  bright  as  her  milking  cans, 
And  her  hat  was  a  beaver,  and  made  like  a  man's ; 
Her  little  red  eyes  were  deep  set  in  their  socket-holes, 
Her  gown-tail  was  turned  up,  and  tucked  through  the  pocket- 
holes  ; 
A  face  like  a  ferret    Betokened  her  spirit : 
To  conclude,  Mrs.  Pryce  was  not  over  young, 
Had  very  short  legs,  and  a  very  long  tongue. 

Now  David  Pryce    Had  one  darling  vice ; 
Remarkably  partial  to  anything  nice. 
Nought  that  was  good  to  him  came  amiss, 
Whether  to  eat,  or  to  drink,  or  to  kiss ! 

Especially  ale —    If  it  was  not  too  stale 
I  really  believe  he'd  have  emptied  a  pail ; 

Not  that  in  Wales    They  talk  of  their  Ales ; 
To  pronounce  the  word  they  make  use  of  might  trouble  you, 
Being  spelt  with  a  C,  two  Rs,  and  a  W. 

That  particular  day.     As  I've  heard  people  say, 
Mr.  David  Pryce  had  been  soaking  his  clay, 
And  amusing  himself  with  his  pipe  and  cheroots. 
The  whole  afternoon,  at  the  Goat-iu-Boots, 

With  a  couple  more  soakers.     Thoroughbred  smokers, 
Both,  like  himself,  prime  singers  and  jokers ; 
And  long  after  day  had  drawn  to  a  close, 
And  the  rest  of  the  world  was  wrapp'd  in  repose. 
They  were  roaring  out  "  Shenkin ! "  and  "  Ar  hydd  y  nos ;" 
While  David  himself,  to  a  Sassenach  tune, 
Sang,  "We've  drunk  down  the  Sun,  boys!    let's  drink  down 
the  Moon ! 

What  have  we  with  day  to  do  ? 

Mrs.  Winifred  Price,  'twas  made  for  you ;" 
At  length,  when  they  couldn't  well  drink  any  more. 
Old  "  Goat-in-Boots  "  show'd  them  the  door : 

And  then  came  that  knock.     And  the  sensible  shock 
David  felt  when  his  wife  cried,  "  Look  at  the  Clock !" 
For  the  hands  stood  as  crooked  as  crooked  might  be, 
The  long  at  the  Twelve,  and  the  short  at  the  Three ! 


''LOOK  AT   TIIS   CLOCK!"  63 

That  self-same  clock  had  long  been  a  bone 
Of  contention  between  this  Darby  and  Joan, 
And  often,  among  their  pother  and  rout, 
When  this  otherwise  amiable  couple  fell  out, 

Pryce  would  drop  a  cool  hint,     With  an  ominous  squint 
At  its  case,  of  an  "  Uncle"  of  his,  who'd  a  "  Spout." 

That  horrid  word  "  Spout "     No  sooner  came  out 
Than  Winifred  Pryce  would  turn  her  about. 

And  with  scorn  on  her  lip,     And  a  hand  on  each  hip, 
"Spout"  herself  till  her  nose  grew  red  at  the  tip, 

"  You  thundering  willin,     I  know  you'd  be  killing 
Your  wife — ay,  a  dozen  of  wives — for  a  shilling ! 

You  may  do  what  you  please.     You  may  sell  my  chemise 
(Mrs.  P.  was  too  well-bred  to  mention  her  smock), 
But  I  never  will  part  with  my  Grandmother's  Clock !" 

Mrs.  Pryce's  tongue  ran  long  and  ran  fast ; 

But  patience  is  apt  to  wear  out  at  last, 

And  David  Pryce  in  temper  was  quick, 

So  he  stretch'd  out  his  hand  and  caught  hold  of  a  stick ; 

Perhaps  in  its  use  he  might  mean  to  be  lenient, 

But  walking  just  then  wasn't  very  convenient. 

So  he  threw  it,  instead.     Direct  at  her  head ; 

It  knock'd  off  her  hat ;     Down  she  fell  flat ; 
Her  case,  perhaps,  was  not  much  mended  by  that : 
But  whatever  it  was, — whether  rage  and  pain 
Produced  apoplexy,  or  burst  a  vein, 
Or  her  tumble  produced  a  concussion  of  brain, 
I  can't  say  for  certain, — but  this  I  can. 
When,  sober'd  by  fright,  to  assist  her  he  ran, 
Mrs.  Winifred  Pryce  was  as  dead  as  Queen  Anne ! 

The  fearful  catastrophe     Named  in  my  last  strophe 
As  adding  to  grim  Death's  exploits  such  a  vast  trophy. 
Made  a  great  noise ;  and  the  shocking  fatality 
Ran  over,  like  wildfire,  the  whole  Principality. 
And  then  came  Mr.  Ap  Thomas,  the  Coroner, 
With  his  jury  to  sit,  some  dozen  or  more,  on  her. 

Mr.  Pryce,  to  commence    His  "  ingenious  defence," 
Made  a  "powerful  appeal"  to  the  jury's  "good  sense:" 


54  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY, 

"  The  world  he  must  defy     Ever  to  justify 
Any  presumption  of  '  Malice  Pi-epense.'  " 

The  unlucky  lick     From  the  end  of  his  stick 
He  "  deplored," — he  was  "  apt  to  be  rather  too  quick ;" — 

But,  really,  her  prating     Was  so  aggravating ; 
Some  trifling  correction  was  just  what  he  meant : — all 
The  rest,  he  assured  them,  was  "  quite  accidental !" 

Then  he  calls  Mr.  Jones,     Who  depones  to  her  tones, 
And  her  gestures,  and  hints  about  "  breaking  his  bones ;" 
While  Mr.  Ap  Morgan  and  Mr.  Ap  Rhys 

Declare  the  deceased  Had  styled  him  "  a  Beast," 
And  swear  they  had  witness'd,  with  grief  and  surprise. 
The  allusion  she  made  to  his  limbs  and  his  eyes. 

The  jury,  in  fine,  having  sat  on  the  body 

The  whole  day,  discussing  the  case,  and  gin  toddy, 

Return'd  about  half-past  eleven  at  night 

The  following  verdict,  "  We  find,  Sarve  her  right !" 

Mr.  Pryce,  Mrs,  Winifred  Pryce  being  dead. 
Felt  lonely,  and  moped ;  and  one  evening  he  said 
He  would  marry  Miss  Davis  at  once  in  her  stead. 

Not  far  from  his  dwelling.    From  the  vale  proudly  swelling. 
Rose  a  mountain  ;  its  name  you'll  excuse  me  from  telling, 
For  the  vowels  made  use  of  in  Welsh  are  so  few, 
That  the  A  and  the  E,  the  I,  O,  and  the  U, 
Have  really  but  little  or  nothing  to  do  ; 
And  the  duty,  of  course,  falls  the  heavier  by  far 
On  the  L,  and  the  H,  and  the  N,  and  the  R. 

Its  first  syllable,  "  Pen,"     Is  pronounceable ; — then 
Come  two  L  Ls,  and  two  H  Hs,  two  F  Fs,  and  an  N, 
About  half  a  score  Rs,  and  some  Ws  follow. 
Beating  all  my  best  efibrts  at  euphony  hollow : 
But  we  shan't  have  to  mention  it  often,  so  when 
We  do,  with  your  leave,  we'll  curtail  it  to  "  Pen." 

Well — the  moon  shone  bright     Upon  "  Pen,"  that  night. 
When  Pryce,  being  quit  of  his  fuss  and  his  fright, 


''LOOK  AT  THE   CLOCK r  55 

Was  scaling  its  side    With  that  sort  of  stride 
A  man  puts  out  when  walking  in  search  of  a  bride. 

Mounting  higher  and  higher,     He  began  to  perspire, 
Till,  finding  his  legs  were  beginning  to  tire, 

And  feeling  opprest    By  a  pain  in  his  chest. 
He  paused,  and  turned  round  to  take  breath  and  to  rest : 
A  walk  all  up  hill  is  apt,  we  know. 
To  make  one,  however  robust,  puff  and  blow, 
So  he  stopped  and  looked  down  on  the  valley  below. 

O'er  fell  and  o'er  fen,     Over  mountain  and  glen, 
All  bright  in  the  moonshine,  his  eye  roved,  and  then 
All  the  Patriot  rose  in  his  soul,  and  he  thought 
Upon  Wales,  and  her  glories,  and  all  he'd  been  taught 

Of  her  Heroes  of  old,     So  brave  and  so  bold, — 
Of  her  Bards  with  long  beards,  and  harps  mounted  in  gold : 

Of  King  Edward  the  First,     Of  memory  accurst ; 
And  the  scandalous  manner  in  which  he  behaved. 

Killing  poets  by  dozens     With  their  uncles  and  cousins, 
Of  whom  not  one  in  fifty  had  ever  been  shaved — 
Of  the  Court  Ball,  at  which,  by  a  lucky  mishap, 
Owen  Tudor  fell  into  Queen  Katherine's  lap ; 

And  how  Mr.  Tudor    Successfully  wooed  her, 
Till  the  Dowager  put  on  a  new  wedding  ring. 
And  so  made  him  Father-in-law  to  the  King. 

He  thought  upon  Arthur  and  Merlin  of  yore, 

On  Gryfl&th  ap  Con  an  and  Owen  Glendour ; 

On  Pendragon,  and  Heaven  knows  how  many  more. 

He  thought  of  all  this,  as  he  gazed,  in  a  trice, 

And  on  all  things,  in  short,  but  the  late  Mrs.  Pryce ; 

When  a  lumbering  noise  from  behind  made  him  start, 

And  sent  the  blood  back  in  full  tide  to  his  heart. 

Which  went  pit-a-pat.    As  he  cried  out,  "  What's  that  ?" — 
That  very  queer  sound  ? —     Does  it  come  from  the  ground  ? 

Or  the  air, — from  above, — or  below, — or  around  ? — 
It  is  not  like  Talking,     It  is  not  like  Walking, 

It's  not  like  the  clattering  of  pot  or  of  pan. 

Or  the  tramp  of  a  horse, — or  the  tread  of  a  man, — 


56  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY. 

Or  the  hum  of  a  crowd,  or  the  shouting  of  boys, — 
It's  really  a  deuced  odd  sort  of  a  noise ! 
Not  unlike  a  cart's, — but  that  can't  be ;  for  when 
Could  "  all  the  King's  horses,  and  all  the  King's  men," 
With  Old  Nick  for  a  wagoner,  drive  one  up  "  Pen  "? 

Pryce,  usually  brimful  of  valor  when  drunk. 

Now  experienced  what  schoolboys  denominate  "  funk." 

In  vain  he  looked  back     On  the  whole  of  the  track 
He  had  traversed ;  a  thick  cloud,  uncommonly  black. 
At  this  moment  obscured  the  broad  disk  of  the  moon. 
And  did  not  seem  likely  to  pass  away  soon ; 

While  clearer  and  clearer,     'Twas  plain  to  the  hearer, 
Be  the  noise  what  it  might,  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer. 
And  sounded,  as  Pryce  to  this  moment  declares, 
Very  much  "  like  a  Coffin  a- walking  up  stairs." 

Mr.  Pryce  had  begun     To  "  make  up  "  for  a  run, 
As  in  such  a  companion  he  saw  no  great  fun. 

When  a  single  bright  ray     Shone  out  on  the  way 
He  had  passed,  and  he  saw,  with  no  little  dismay, 
Coming  after  him,  bounding  o'er  crag  and  o'er  rock, 
The  deceased  Mrs.  Winifred's  "  Grandmother's  Clock ! !" 
'Twas  so ! — it  had  certainly  moved  from  its  place, 
And  come  lumbering  on  thus,  to  hold  him  in  chase ; 
'Twas  the  very  same  Head,  and  the  very  same  Case, 
And  nothing  was  altered  at  all — but  the  Face ! 
In  that  he  perceived,  with  no  little  surprise, 
The  two  little  winder-holes  turned  into  eyes 

Blazing  with  ire,     Like  two  coals  of  fire ; 
And  the  "  Name  of  the  Maker  "  was  changed  to  a  Lip, 
And  the  Hands  to  a  Nose  with  a  very  red  tip. 
No ! — ^he  could  not  mistake  it, — 'twas  She  to  the  life ! 
The  identical  face  of  his  poor  defunct  wife ! 

One  glance  was  enough.     Completely  "  Quant,  suff." 
As  the  doctors  write  down  when  they  send  you  their  "  stuff." 
Like  a  Weather-cock  Avhirled  by  a  vehement  puff, 


"  But  run  as  he  will,     Or  roll  down  the  hill, 
The  bugbear  behind  him  is  after  him  still !" 

p.  57. 


'■'■LOOK  AT  TitE   CLOCK!"  57 

David  turned  himself  round ;     Ten  feet  of  ground 
He  cleared,  in  his  start,  at  the  very  first  bound ! 
I've  seen  people  run  at  West-End  Fair  for  cheeses — 
I've  seen  ladies  run  at  Bow  Fair  for  chemises — 
At  Greenwich  Fair  twenty  men  run  for  a  hat. 
And  one  from  a  Bailiff  much  faster  than  that : 
At  foot-ball  I've  seen  lads  run  after  the  bladder — 
I've  seen  Irish  bricklayers  run  up  a  ladder — 
I've  seen  little  boys  run  away  from  a  cane — 
And  I've  seen  (that  is,  read  of)  good  running  in  Spain  ;* 

But  I  never  did  read     Of,  or  witness,  such  speed 
As  David  exerted  that  evening. — Indeed 
All  I  have  ever  heard -of  boys,  women,  or  men, 
Falls  far  short  of  Pryce,  as  he  ran  over  Pen  ! 

He  reaches  its  brow, —    He  has  past  it,  and  now. 
Having  once  gained  the  summit,  and  managed  to  <;ross  it,  he 
Rolls  down  the  side  with  uncommon  velocity ; 

But  run  as  he  will,     Or  roll  down  the  hill, 
The  bugbear  behind  him  is  after  him  still ! 
And  close  at  his  heels,  not  at  all  to  his  liking. 
The  terrible  clock  keeps  on  ticking  and  striking. 

Till,  exhausted  and  sore.     He  can't  run  any  more, 
But  falls  as  he  reaches  Miss  Davis's  door. 
And  screams  when  they  rush  out,  alarmed  at  his  knock, 
"  Oh !  Look  at  the  Clock !— Do !— Look  at  the  Clock ! !" 

Miss  Davis  looked  up,  Miss  Davis  looked  down. 
She  saw  nothing  there  to  alarm  her ; — a  frown 

Came  o'er  her  white  forehead  ;     She  said,  "  it  was  horrid 
A  man  should  come  knocking  at  that  time  of  night. 
And  give  her  Mamma  and  herself  such  a  fright ; — 

To  squall  and  to  bawl     About  nothing  at  all !" 
She  begged  "  he'd  not  think  of  repeating  his  call : 

His  late  wife's  disaster     By  no  means  had  past  her ;" 
She'd  "  have  him  to  know  she  was  meat  for  his  Master !" 
Then  regardless  alike  of  his  love  and  his  woes. 
She  turned  on  her  heel  and  she  turned  up  her  nose. 

*  I-run  is  a  town  said  to  have  been  so  named  from  something  of  this  sort. 


58  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY. 

Poor  David  in  vain     Implored  to  remain ; 
He  "  dared  not,"  he  said,  "  cross  the  mountain  again." 

Why  the  fair  was  obdurate     None  knows, — to  be  sure,  it 
Was  said  she  was  setting  her  cap  at  the  Curate. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  the  sole  hole 
Pryce  found  to  creep  into  that  night  was  the  Coal-hole ! 

In  that  shady  retreat.     With  nothing  to  eat, 
And  with  very  bruised  limbs,  and  with  very  sore  feet, 

All  night  close  he  kept ;     I  can't  say  he  slept ; 
But  he  sighed,  and  he  sobbed,  and  he  groaned,  and  he  wept ; 

Lamenting  his  sins.     And  his  two  broken  shins, 
Bewailing  his  fate  with  contortions  and  grins. 
And  her  he  once  thought  a  complete  Rara  Avis, 
Consigning  to  Satan, — viz.,  cruel  Miss  Davis  I 

Mr.  David  has  since  had  a  "  serious  call," 
He  never  drinks  ale,  wine,  or  spirits,  at  all, 
And  they  say  he  is  going  to  Exeter  Hall 

To  "make  a  grand  speech,     And  to  preach,  and  to  teach 
People  that  "  they  can't  brew  their  malt  liquor  too  small." 
That  an  ancient  Welsh  Poet,  one  Pyndar  ap  Tudor, 
Was  right  in  proclaiming  "  Ariston  men  Udor  !" 

Which  means  "  The  pure  Element     Is  for  Man's  belly 
meant !" 
And  that  Gin^s  but  a  Snare  of  Old  Nick  the  deluder ! 

And  "  still  on  each  evening  when  pleasure  fills  up," 
At  the  old  Goat-in-Boots,  with  Metheglin,  each  cup, 

Mr.  Pryce,  if  he's  there.     Will  get  into  "  The  Chair," 
And  make  all  his  quoyidam  associates  stare 
By  calling  aloud  to  the  Landlady's  daughter, 
"  Patty,  bring  a  cigar,  and  a  glass  of  Spring  Water !" 
The  dial  he  constantly  watches ;  and  when 
The  long  hand's  at  the  "  XII.,"  and  the  short  at  the  "  X.," 

He  gets  on  his  legs,     Drains  his  glass  to  the  dregs, 
Takes  his  hat  and  great-coat  off  their  several  pegs. 
With  his  President's  hammer  bestows  his  last  knock. 
And  says  solemnly — "  Gentlemen ! 

Look  at  the  Clock  ! ! !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  SIIEPPEY.  59 

The  succeeding  Legend  has  long  been  an  established  favorite 
with  all  of  us,  as  containing  much  of  the  personal  history  of 
one  of  the  greatest  ornaments  of  the  family  tree. 

To  the  wedding  between  the  sole  heiress  of  this  redoubted 
hero  and  a  direct  ancestor  is  it  owing  that  the  Lioncels  of 
Shurland  hang  so  lovingly  parallel  with  the  Saltire  of  the 
Ingoldsbys,  and  now  form  as  cherished  a  quartering  in  their 
escutcheon  as  the  "  dozen  white  lowses "  in  the  "  old  coat "  of 
Shallow. 

Crag  3iolpf)in. 

A   LEGEND   OF   SHEPPEY. 

"~j    TE  won't — won't  he?    Then  bring  me  my  boots!"  said 

J — L     the  Baron. 

Consternation  was  at  its  height  in  the  castle  of  Shurland — a 
caitiff  had  dared  to  disobey  the  Baron !  and — the  Baron  had 
called  for  his  boots ! 

A  thunderbolt  in  the  great  hall  had  been  a  bagatelle  to  it. 

A  few  days  before  a  notable  miracle  had  been  wrought  in  the 
neighborhood ;  and  in  those  times  miracles  were  not  so  common 
as  they  are  now ;  no  royal  balloons,  no  steam,  no  railroads, — 
while  the  few  Saints  who  took  the  trouble  to  walk  with  their 
heads  under  their  arms,  or  to  pull  the  devil  by  the  nose, 
scarcely  appeared  above  once  in  a  century ; — so  the  affair  made 
the  greater  sensation. 

The  clock  had  done  striking  twelve,  and  the  Clerk  of  Chat- 
ham was  untrussing  his  points  preparatory  to  seeking  his 
truckle-bed ;  a  half-emptied  tankard  of  mild  ale  stood  at  his 
elbow,  the  roasted  crab  yet  floating  on  its  surface.  Midnight 
had  surprised  the  worthy  functionary  while  occupied  in  discuss- 
ing it,  and  with  his  task  yet  unaccomplished.  He  meditated  a 
mighty  draft :  one  hand  was  fumbling  with  his  tags,  while  the 
other  was  extended  in  the  act  of  grasping  the  jorum,  when  a 
knock  on  the  portal,  solemn  and  sonorous,  arrested  his  fingers. 
It  was  repeated  thrice  ere  Emmanuel  Saddleton  had  presence 


60  GRAY  DOLFHIN. 

of  mind  sufficient  to  inquire  who  sought  admittance  at  that  un- 
timeous  hour. 

"  Open !  open !  good  Clerk  of  St.  Bridget's,"  said  a  female 
voice,  small  yet  distinct  and  sweet, — an  excellent  thing  in 
woman. 

■    The  Clerk  arose,  crossed  to   the   doorway,  and  undid  the 
latchet. 

On  the  threshold  stood  a  Lady  of  surpassing  beauty :  her 
robes  were  rich,  and"  large,  and  full ;  and  a  diadem,  sparkling 
with  gems  that  shed  a  halo  around,  crowned  her  brow :  she 
beckoned  the  Clerk  as  he  stood  in  astonishment  before  her. 

"  Emmanuel !"  said  the  Lady ;  and  her  tones  sounded  like 
those  of  a  silver  flute.  "  Emmanuel  Saddleton,  truss  up  your 
points,  and  follow  me !" 

The  worthy  Clerk  stared  aghast  at  the  vision ;  the  purple 
robe,  the  cymar,  the  coronet, — above  all,  the  smile ;  no,  there 
was  no  mistaking  her ;  it  was  the  blessed  St.  Bridget  herself! 

And  what  could  have  brought  the  sainted  lady  out  of  her 
warm  shrine  at  such  a  time  of  night  ?  and  on  such  a  night  ?  for 
it  was  as  dark  as  pitch,  and,  metaphorically  speaking,  "  rained 
cats  and  dogs." 

Emmanuel  could  not  speak,  so  he  looked  the  question. 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  said  the  Saint,  answering  to  his  thought. 
"  No  matter  for  that,  Emmanuel  Saddleton ;  only  follow  me, 
and  you'll  see !" 

The  Clerk  turned  a  wistful  eye  at  the  corner  cupboard. 

"  Oh !  never  mind  the  lantern,  Emmanuel :  you'll  not  want 
it :  but  you  may  bring  a  mattock  and  a  shovel."  As  she  spoke, 
the  beautiful  apparition  held  up  her  delicate  hand.  From  the 
tip  of  each  of  her  long  taper  fingers  issued  a  lambent  flame  of 
such  surpassing  brilliancy  as  would  have  plunged  a  whole  gas 
company  into  despair — it  was  a  "  Hand  of  Glory,"*  such  a  one 
as  tradition  tells  us  yet  burns  in  Rochester  Castle  every  St. 
Mark's  Eve.  Many  are  the  daring  individuals  who  have 
watched  in  Gundulph's  Tower,  hoping  to  find  it,  and  the  treas- 
ure it  guards ; — but  none  of  them  ever  did. 

"  This  Avay,  Emmanuel !"  and  a  flame  of  peculiar  radiance 

*  One  of  the  uses  to  which  this  mystic  chandelier  was  put  was  the  protectiou  of 
secreted  treasure.    Blow  out  all  the  fingers  at  one  puff  and  you  had  the  money. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPEY.  61 

streamed  from  her  little  finger,  as  it  pointed  to  the  pathway 
leading  to  the  churchyard. 

Saddleton  shouldered  his  tools,  and  followed  in  silence. 

The  cemetery  of  St.  Bridget's  was  some  half-mile  distant  from 
the  Clerk's  domicile,  and  adjoined  a  chapel  dedicated  to  that 
illustrious  lady,  who,  after  leading  but  a  so-so  life,  had  died  in 
the  odor  of  sanctity.  Emmanuel  Saddleton  was  fat  and  scant 
of  breath,  the  mattock  was  heavy,  and  the  Saint  walked  too 
fast  for  him :  he  paused  to  take  second  wind  at  the  end  of  the 
first  furlong. 

"Emmanuel,"  said  the  holy  lady,  good-humoredly,  for  she 
heard  him  puffing ;  "  rest  awhile,  Emmanuel,  and  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  want  with  you." 

Her  auditor  wiped  his  brow  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and 
looked  all  attention  and  obedience. 

"Emmanuel,"  continued  she,  "what  did  you  and  Father 
Fothergill,  and  the  rest  of  you,  mean  yesterday  by  burying  that 
drowned  man  so  close  to  me  ?  He  died  in  mortal  sin,  Emman- 
uel ;  no  shrift,  no  unction,  no  absolution  :  why  he  might  as  well 
have  been  excommunicated.  He  plagues  me  with  his  grinning, 
and  I  can't  have  any  peace  in  my  shrine.  You  must  howk  him 
up  again,  Emmanuel !" 

"To  be  sure,  madam, — my  lady, — that  is,  your  holiness," 
stammered  Saddleton,  trembling  at  the  thought  of  the  task 
assigned  him.  "To  be  sure,  your  ladyship;  only — that 
is 

"  Emmanuel,"  said  the  Saint,  "  you'll  do  my  bidding,  or  it 
would  be  better  you  had !"  and  her  eye  changed  from  a  dove's 
eye  to  that  of  a  hawk,  and  a  flash  came  from  it  as  bright  as  the 
one  from  her  little  finger.  The  Clerk  shook  in  his  shoes  ;  and, 
again  dashing  the  cold  perspiration  from  his  brow,  followed  the 
footsteps  of  his  mysterious  guide. 


The  next  morning  all  Chatham  was  in  an  uproar.  The  Clerk 
of  St.  Bridget's  had  found  himself  at  home  at  daybreak,  seated 
in  his  own  arm-chair,  the  fire  out,  and — the  tankard  of  ale  out 
too !  Who  had  drunk  it  ?— where  had  he  been  ?— how  had  he 
got  home  ? — all  was  a  mystery ! — he  remembered  a  "  mass  of 


62  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

things,  but  nothing  distinctly ;"  all  was  fog  and  fantasy.  What 
he  could  clearly  recollect  was  that  he  had  dug  up  the  Grinning 
Sailor,  and  that  the  Saint  had  helped  to  throw  him  into  the  river 
again.  All  was  thenceforth  wonderment  and  devotion,  Masses 
were  sung,  tapers  were  kindled,  bells  were  tolled ;  the  monks 
of  St.  Romuald  had  a  solemn  procession,  the  abbot  at  their 
head,  the  sacristan  at  their  tail,  and  the  holy  breeches  of  St. 
Thomas  a  Becket  in  the  centre ; — Father  Fothergill  brewed  a 
XXX  puncheon  of  holy  water.  The  rood  of  Gillingham  was 
deserted  ;  the  chapel  of  Rainham  forsaken  ;  every  one  who  had 
a  soul  to  be  saved  flocked  with  his  ofiering  to  St.  Bridget's 
slarine,  and  Emmanuel  Saddleton  gathered  more  fees  from  the 
promiscuous  piety  of  that  one  week  than  he  had  pocketed  dur- 
ing the  twelve  preceding  months. 

Meanwhile  the  corpse  of  the  ejected  reprobate  oscillated  like 
a  pendulum  between  Sheerness  and  Gillingham  Reach.  Now 
borne  by  the  Medway  into  the  Western  Swale,  now  carried  by 
the  refluent  tide  back  to  the  vicinity  of  its  old  quarters, — it 
seemed  as  though  the  River  god  and  Neptune  were  amusing 
themselves  with  a  game  of  subaqueous  battledore,  and  had 
chosen  this  unfortunate  carcass  as  a  marine  shuttlecock.  For 
some  time  the  alternation  was  kept  up  with  great  spirit,  till 
Boreas,  interfering  in  the  shape  of  a  stifiish  "  Nor'wester," 
drifted  the  bone  (and  flesh)  of  contention  ashore  on  the  Shur- 
land  domain,  where  it  lay  in  all  the  majesty  of  mud.  It  was 
soon  discovered  by  the  retainers,  and  dragged  from  its  oozy  bed, 
grinning  worse  than  ever.  Tidings  of  the  godsend  were  of 
course  carried  instantly  to  the  castle ;  for  the  Baron  was  a  very 
great  man ;  and  if  a  dun  cow  had  flown  across  his  property  un- 
announced by  the  warder,  the  Baron  would  have  kicked  him, 
the  said  warder,  from  the  topmost  battlement  into  the  bottom- 
most ditch, — a  descent  of  pei'il,  and  one  which  "  Ludwig  the 
Leaper,"  or  the  illustrious  Trenck  himself,  might  well  have 
shrunk  from  encountering. 

"  An't  please  your  lordship "  said  Peter  Periwinkle. 

"  No,  villain !  it  does  not  please  me !"  roared  the  Baron. 

His  lordship  was  deeply  engaged  with  a  peck  of  Feversham 
oysters :  he  doted  on  shellfish,  hated  interruption  at  meals,  and 
had  not  yet  despatched  more  than  twenty  dozen  of  the  "  natives." 


A   LEGEND    OF  SIIEPPEY.  63 

"  There's  a  body,  my  lord,  washed  ashore  in  tlie  lower  ftreek," 
said  the  seneschal. 

The  Baron  was  going  to  throw  the  shells  at  his  head ;  but 
paused  in  the  act,  and  said,  with  much  dignity, — 

"  Turn  out  the  fellow's  pockets !" 

But  the  defunct  had  before  been  subjected  to  the  double 
scrutiny  of  Father  Fothergill  and  the  Clerk  of  St.  Bridget's. 
It  Avas  ill  gleaning  after  such  hands ;  there  was  not  a  single 
maravedi. 

We  have  already  said  that  Sir  Kobert  de  Shurland,  Lord  of 
the  Isle  of  Sheppey,  and  of  many  a  fair  manor  on  the  mainland, 
Avas  a  man  of  worship.  He  had  rights  of  freewarren,  saccage 
and  sockage,  cuisage  and  jambage,  fosse  and  fork,  infang  theofe 
and  outfang  theof ;  and  all  waifs  and  strays  belonged  to  him 
in  fee  simple. 

"Turn  out  his  pockets!"  said  the  knight. 

"An't  please  you,  my  lord,  I  must  say  as  how  they  Avas 
turned  out  afore,  and  the  devil  a  rap's  left." 

"  Then  bury  the  blackguard !" 

"  Please  your  lordship,  he  has  been  buried  once." 

"  Then  bury  him  again,  and  be !"     The  Baron  bestowed 

a  benediction. 

The  seneschal  bowed  low  as  he  left  the  room,  and  the  Baron 
Avent  on  with  his  oysters. 

Scarcely  ten  dozen  more  had  vanished  when  PeriANdnkle  re- 
appeared. 

"  An't  please  you,  my  lord.  Father  Fothergill  says  as  hoAV 
that  it's  the  Grinning  Sailor,  and  he  won't  bury  him  auyhoAV." 

"  Oh  !  he  won't — Avon't  he  ?"  said  the  Baron.  Can  it  be  Avon- 
dered  at  that  he  called  for  his  boots  ? 

Sir  Robert  de  Shurland,  Lord  of  Shurland  and  Minster,  Baron 
of  Sheppey  in  comitatu  Kent,  was,  as  has  been  before  hinted,  a 
very  great  man.  He  was  also  a  very  little  man  ;  that  is,  he 
was  relatively  great,  and  relatively  little — or  physically  little, 
and  metaphorically  great — like  Sir  Sidney  Smith  and  the  late 
Mr.  Buonaparte.  To  the  frame  of  a  dwarf  he  united  the  soul 
of  a  giant  and  the  valor  of  a  gamecock.  Then,  for  so  small  a 
man,  his  strength  Avas  prodigious ;  his  fist  would  fell  an  ox,  and 
his  kick — oh !  his  kick  Avas  tremendous,  and,  when  he  had  his 


64  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

boots  on,  would — to  use  au  expression  of  his  own,  which  he  had 
picked  up  in  the  holy  wars — would  "  send  a  man  from  Jericho 
to  June."  He  was  bull-necked  and  bandy-legged;  his  chest 
was  broad  and  deep,  his  head  large  and  uncommonly  thick,  his 
eyes  a  little  bloodshot,  and  his  nose  retrousse,  with  a  remarkably 
red  tip.  Strictly  speaking,  the  Baron  could  not  be  called  hand- 
some; but  his  tout  ensemble  was  singularly  impressive;  and 
when  he  called  for  his  boots  everybody  trembled,  and  dreaded 
the  worst. 

"  Periwinkle,"  said  the  Baron,  as  he  encased  his  better  leg, 
"  let  the  grave  be  twenty  feet  deep !" 

"  Your  lordship's  command  is  law." 

"  And,  Periwinkle  " — Sir  Robert  stamped  his  left  heel  into 
its  receptacle — "  and.  Periwinkle,  see  that  it  be  wide  enough  to 
hold  not  exceeding  two !" 

'■  Ye — ye — yes,  my  lord." 

"  And,  Periwinkle — tell  Father  Fothergill  I  would  fain  speak 
with  his  Reverence." 

"  Ye — ye — yes,  my  lord." 

The  Baron's  beard  was  peaked  :  and  his  moustaches,  stiff  and 
stumpy,  projected  horizontally,  like  those  of  a  Tom  Cat;  he 
twirled  the  one,  he  stroked  the  other,  he  drew  the  buckle  of  his 
surcingle  a  thought  tighter,  and  strode  down  the  great  staircase 
three  steps  at  a  stride. 

The  vassals  were  assembled  in  the  great  hall  of  Shurland 
Castle ;  every  cheek  was  pale,  every  tongue  was  mute  :  expect- 
ation and  perplexity  were  visible  on  every  brow.  What  would 
his  lordship  do  ?  Were  the  recusant  anybody  else,  gyves  to  the 
heels  and  hemp  to  the  throat  were  but  too  good  for  him  ;  but  it 
was  Father  Fothergill  who  had  said  "  I  won't ;"  and  though  the 
Baron  was  a  very  great  man,  the  Pope  was  a  greater,  and  the 
Pope  was  Father  Fothergill's  great  friend — some  people  said  he 
was  his  uncle. 

Father  Fothergill  w^as  busy  in  the  refectory  trying  conclu- 
sions with  a  venison  pasty,  when  he  received  the  summons  of 
his  patron  to  attend  him  in  the  chapel  cemetery.  Of  course  he 
lost  no  time  in  obeying  it,  for  obedience  was  the  general  rule  in 
Shurland  Castle.  If  anybody  ever  said  "  I  won't,"  it  was  the 
exception ;  and,  like  all  other  exceptions,  only  proved  the  rule 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPEY.  65 

the  strouger.  The  Father  was  a  friar  of  the  Augustine  persua- 
siou ;  a  brotherhood  which,  haviug  beeu  planted  in  Kent  some 
few  centuries  earlier,  had  taken  very  kindly  to  the  soil,  and 
overspread  the  county  much  as  hops  did  some  few  centuries 
later.  He  was  plump  and  portly,  a  little  thick-winded,  especi- 
ally after  dinner,  stood  five  feet  four  in  his  sandals,  and  weighed 
hard  upon  eighteen  stone.  He  was,  moreover,  a  personage  of 
singular  piety;  and  the  iron  girdle,  which,  he  said,  he  wore 
under  his  cassock  to  mortify  withal,  might  have  been  well  mis- 
taken for  the  tire  of  a  cart-wheel.  When  he  arrived.  Sir  Robert 
was  pacing  up  and  down  by  the  side  of  a  newly-opened  grave. 

" Benedidte!  fair  son"  (the  Baron  was  as  brown  as  a  cigar) — 
"Benedidte!"  said  the  Chaplain. 

The  Baron  was  too  angry  to  stand  upon  compliment.  "  Bury 
me  that  grinning  caitifi"  there !"  quoth  he,  pointing  to  the  de- 
funct. 

"  It  may  not  be,  fair  son,"  said  the  Friar ;  "  he  hath  perished 
without  absolution." 

"  Bury  the  body !"  roared  Sir  Robert. 

"  Water  and  earth  alike  reject  him,"  returned  the  Chaplain ; 
"  holy  St.  Bridget  herself " 

"  Bridget  me  no  Bridgets ! — do  me  thine  office  quickly,  Sir 

Shaveling !  or,  by  the  Piper  that  played  before  Moses " 

The  oath  was  a  fearful  one ;  and  whenever  the  Baron  swore  to 
do  mischiefs  he  was  never  known  to  perjure  himself.  He  was 
playing  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  "  Do  me  thine  office,  I  saj. 
Give  him  his  passport  to  Heaven." 

"  He  is  already  gone  to  Hell !"  stammered  the  Friar. 

"  Then  do  you  go  after  him !"  thundered  the  Lord  of  Shur- 
land. 

His  sword  half  leaped  from  its  scabbard.  No! — the  tren- 
chant blade,  that  had  cut  Suleiman  Ben  Malek  Ben  Buckskin 
from  helmet  to  chine,  disdained  to  daub  itself  with  the  cerebel- 
lum of  a  miserable  monk ; — it  leaped  back  again ; — and  as  the 
Chaplain,  scared  at  its  flash,  turned  him  in  terror,  the  Baron 
gave  him  a  kick ! — one  kick  ! — it  Avas  but  one ! — but  such  a  one ! 
Despite  its  obesity,  up  flew  his  holy  body  in  an  angle  of  forty- 
five  degrees;  then,  having  reached  its  highest  point  of  elevation, 
sank  headlong  into  the  open  grave  that  yawned  to  receive  it. 
5 


66  GRAY  dolphin: 

If  the  reverend  gentleman  had  possessed  such  a  thing  as  a  neck, 
he  had  infallibly  broken  it  I  as  he  did  not,  he  only  dislocated 
his  vertebrae — but  that  did  quite  as  well.  He  was  as  dead  as 
ditch-water ! 

"  In  with  the  other  rascal !"  said  the  Baron — and  he  was 
obeyed ;  for  there  he  stood  in  his  boots.  Mattock  and  shovel 
made  short  work  of  it;  twenty  feet  of  superincumbent  mold 
pressed  down  alike  the  saint  and  the  sinner.  "  Now  sing  a  re- 
quiem who  list !"  said  the  Baron,  and  his  lordship  went  back  to 
his  oysters. 

The  vassals  at  Castle  Shurland  were  astounded,  or,  as  the 
Seneschal  Hugh  better  expressed  it,  "  perfectly  conglomerated," 
by  this  event.  What !  murder  a  monk  in  the  odor  of  sanctity — 
and  on  consecrated  ground  too !  They  trembled  for  the  health 
of  the  Baron's  soul.  To  the  unsophisticated  many  it  seemed 
that  matters  could  not  have  been  much  w^orse  had  he  shot  a 
bishop's  coach-horse — all  looked  for  some  signal  judgment. 
The  melancholy  catastrophe  of  their  neighbors  at  Canterbury 
was  yet  rife  in  their  memories :  not  two  centuries  had  elapsed 
since  those  miserable  sinners  had  cut  off  the  tail  of  the  blessed 
St.  Thomas's  mule.  The  tail  of  the  mule,  it  was  well  known, 
had  been  forthwith  affixed  to  that  of  the  Mayor ;  and  rumor 
said  it  had  since  been  hereditary  in  the  corporation.  The  least 
that  could  be  expected  was  that  Sir  Robert  should  have  a  friar 
tacked  on  to  his  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life !  Some  bolder 
spirits  there  were,  'tis  true,  who  viewed  the  matter  in  various 
lights,  according  to  their  different  temperaments  and  disposi- 
tions ;  for  perfect  unanimity  existed  not  even  in  the  good  old 
times.  The  verderer,  roistering  Hob  Roebuck,  swore  roundly, 
"  'Twere  as  good  a  deed  as  eat  to  kick  down  the  chapel  as  well 
as  the  monk."  Hob  had  stood  there  in  a  white  sheet  for  kissing 
Giles  Miller's  daughter.  On  the  other  hand,  Simpkin  Agnew, 
the  bell-ringer,  doubted  if  the  devil's  cellar,  which  runs  under 
the  bottomless  abyss,  were  quite  deep  enough  for  the  delinquent, 
and  speculated  on  the  probability  of  a  hole  being  dug  in  it  for 
his  especial  accommodation.  The  philosophers  and  economists 
thought,  with  Saunders  McBullock,  the  Baron's  bagpiper,  that 
a  "  feckless  monk  more  or  less  was  nae  great  subject  for  a  clam- 
jamphry,"  especially  as  "  the  supply  considerably  exceeded  the 


A   LEGEND    OF  SlIEPPEV.  67 

demand ;"  while  Malthouse,  the  tapster,  was  arguing  to  Dame 
Martin  that  a  murder  now  and  then  was  a  seasonable  check  to 
population,  without  which  the  Isle  of  Sheppey  would  in  time 
be  devoured,  like  a  mouldy  cheese,  by  inhabitants  of  its  own 
pi-oducing.  Meanwhile,  the  Baron  ate  his  oysters  and  thought 
no  more  of  the  matter. 

But  this  tranquillity  of  his  lordship  was  not  to  last.  A 
couple  of  Saints  had  been  seriously  offended ;  and  we  have  all 
of  us  read  at  school  that  celestial  minds  are  by  no  means  in- 
sensible to  the  provocations  of  anger.  There  wei-e  those  who 
expected  that  St.  Bridget  would  come  in  person,  and  have  the 
friar  up  again,  as  she  did  the  sailor ;  but  perhaps  her  ladyship 
did  not  care  to  trust  herself  within  the  walls  of  Shurland  Castle. 
To  say  the  truth,  it  was  scarcely  a  decent  house  for  a  female 
Saint  to  be  seen  in.  The  Baron's  gallantries,  since  he  became 
a  Avidower,  had  been  but  too  notorious ;  and  her  own  reputation 
was  a  little  blown  upon  in  the  earlier  days  of  her  earthly  pil- 
grimage :  then  things  were  so  apt  to  be  misrepresented — in 
short,  she  would  leave  the  whole  affair  to  St.  Austin,  who,  being 
a  gentleman,  could  interfere  with  propriety,  avenge  her  affront 
as  well  as  his  own,  and  leave  no  loophole  for  scandal.  St. 
Austin  himself  seems  to  have  had  his  scruples,  though  of  their 
precise  nature  it  Avould  be  difficult  to  determine,  for  it  were  idle 
to  suppose  him  at  all  afraid  of  the  Baron's  boots.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  the  mode  which  he  adopted  was  at  once  prudent  and  effi- 
cacious. As  an  ecclesiastic,  he  could  not  well  call  the  Baron 
out — had  his  boots  been  out  of  the  question ;  so  he  resolved  to 
have  recourse  to  the  law.  Instead  of  Shurland  Castle,  there- 
fore, he  repaired  forthwith  to  his  own  magnificent  monastery, 
situate  just  within  the  walls  of  Canterbury,  and  presented  him- 
self in  a  vision  to  its  abbot.  No  one  who  has  ever  visited  that 
ancient  city  can  fail  to  recollect  the  splendid  gateway  which 
terminates  the  vista  of  St.  Paul's  Street,  and  stands  there  yet  in 
all  its  pristine  beauty.  The  tiny  train  of  miniature  artillery 
which  now  adorns  its  battlements  is,  it  is  true,  an  ornament  of 
a  later  date;  and  is  said  to  have  been  added  some  centuries 
after  by  a  learned  but  jealous  proprietor,  for  the  purpose  of 
shooting  any  wiser  man  than  himself  who  might  chance  to  come 
that  way.     Tradition  is  silent  as  to  any  discharge  having  taken 


68  '  GRAY  DOLPniN. 

p]a(5e,  nor  can  the  oldest  inhabitant  of  modern  days  recollect 
any  such  occurrence.*  Here  it  was,  in  a  handsome  chamber, 
immediately  over  the  lofty  archway,  that  the  Superior  of  the 
monastery  lay  buried  in  a  brief  slumber,  snatched  from  his 
accustomed  vigils.  His  mitre — for  he  was  a  mitred  Abbot,  and 
had  a  seat  in  parliament — rested  on  a  table'  beside  him  ;  near  it 
stood  a  silver  flagon  of  Gascony  wine,  ready,  no  doubt,  for  the 
pious  uses  of  the  morrow.  Fasting  and  watching  had  made  him 
more  than  usually  somnolent,  than  which  nothing  could  have 
been  better  for  the  purpose  of  the  Saint,  who  now  appeared  to 
him  radiant  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow. 

"  Anselm  !"  said  the  beatific  vision, — "  Anselm  I  are  you  not  a 
pretty  fellow  to  lie  snoring  there  when  your  brethren  are  being 
knocked  at  head,  and  Mother  Church  herself  is  menaced  ? — It 
is  a  sin  and  a  shame,  Anselm !" 

"  What's  the  matter  ? — Who  are  you  ?''  cried  the  Abbot,  rub- 
bing his  eyes,  which  the  celestial  splendor  of  his  visitor  had  set 
a  winking.  "Ave  Maria!  St.  Austin  himself !  Speak,  5ea^ts- 
sime  !  what  would  you  with  the  humblest  of  yotfr  votaries  ?" 

"  Anselm !"  said  the  Saint,  "  a  brother  of  our  order,  whose 
soul  Heaven  assoilzie !  hath  been  foully  murdered.  He  hath 
been  ignominiously  kicked  to  the  death,  Anselm  ;  and  there  he 
lieth  cheek-by-jowl  with  a  wretched  carcass,  which  our  sister 
Bridget  has  turned  out  of  her  cemetery  for  unseemly  grinning. 
Arouse  thee,  Anselm !" 

"  Ay,  so  please  you,  Sanctissime  !"  said  the  Abbot.  "  I  will 
order  forthwith  that  thirty  masses  be  said,  thirty  Paters,  and 
thirty  Aves." 

"  Thirty  fools-nheads !"  interrupted  his  patron,  who  was  a  little 
peppery. 

"  I  will  send  for  bell,  book,  and  candle " 

"  Send  for  an  inkhorn,  Anselm.  Write  me  now  a  letter  to 
his  Holiness  the  Pope  in  good  round  terms,  and  another  to  the 
Coroner,  and  another  to  the  Sheriff,  and  seize  me  the  never- 
euough-to-be-anathematized  villain  who  hath  done  this  deed ! 
Hang  him  as  high  as  Haman,  Anselm ! — up  with  him  ! — down 
with  his  dwelling-place,  root  and  branch,  hearth-stone  and  roof- 

*  Since  the  appearance  of  the  first  edition  of  this  Legend  "  the  guns "  have  been 
diamounted.    Rumor  hints  at  some  alarm  on  the  part  of  the  Town  Council. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHEPPEY.  69 

tree, — down  with  it  all,  and  sow  the  site  with  salt  and  saw- 
dust!" 

St.  Austin,  it  will  be  perceived,  was  a  radical  reformer. 

"  Marry  will  I,"  quoth  the  Abbot,  warming  with  the  Saint's 
eloquence ;  "  ay,  marry  will  I,  and  that  instanter.  But  there  is 
one  thing  you  have  forgotten,  most  Beatified — the  name  of  the 
culprit." 

"  Robert  de  Shurland." 

"  The  Lord  of  Sheppey !  Bless  me !"  said  the  Abbot,  cross- 
ing himself,  "  won't  that  be  rather  inconvenient  ?  Sir  Robert 
is  a  bold  baron,  and  a  powerful ;  blows  will  come  and  go,  and 
crowns  Avill  be  cracked,  and " 

"  What  is  that  to  you,  since  yours  will  not  be  of  the  number?" 

"  Very  true,  Beatisshne  ! — I  will  don  me  with  speed,  and  do 
your  bidding." 

"  Do  so,  Anselm ! — fail  not  to  hang  the  Baron,  burn  his 
castle,  confiscate  his  estate,  and  buy  me  two  large  wax  candles 
for  my  own  particular  shrine  out  of  your  share  of  the  property." 

With  this  solemn  injunction  the  vision  began  to  fade. 

"  One  thing  more !"  cried  the  Abbot,  grasping  his  rosary. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  the  Saint. 

"0  Beate  Augustine,  ora  pro  nobis  T 

"Of  course  I  shall,"  said  St.  Austin.  ^'Pax  vobiscum!" — 
and  Abbot  Anselm  was  left  alone. 

Within  an  hour  all  Canterbury  was  in  commotion.  A  friar 
had  been  murdered, — two  friars — ten — twenty ;  a  whole  convent 
had  been  assaulted,  sacked,  burnt, — all  the  monks  had  been 
killed,  and  all  the  nuns  had  been  kissed !  Murder !  fire !  sacri- 
lege !  Never  Avas  city  in  such  an  uproar.  From  St.  George's 
gate  to  St.  Dunstan's  suburb,  from  the  Donjon  to  the  borough 
of  Staplegate,  all  was  noise  and  hubbub.  "  Where  was  it  ?" — 
"  When  was  it?"—"  How  was  it?"  The  Mayor  caught  up  his 
chain,  the  Aldermen  donned  their  furred  gowns,  the  Town 
Clerk  put  on  his  spectacles.  "  Who  was  he  ?"— "  What  was  he  ?" 
— "Where  was  he?" — He  should  be  hanged, — he  should  be 
burned, — he  should  be  broiled,— he  should  be  fried, — he  should 
be  scraped  to  death  with  red-hot  oyster  shells !  "  Who  was  he  ?" 
— "  What  was  his  name  ?" 

The  Abbot's  Apparitor  drew  forth  his  roll  and  read  aloud : — 


70  GRAY  DOLrillN. 

"  Sir  Robert  de  Shurland,  Knight  banneret,  Baron  of  Shurland 
and  Minster,  and  Lord  of  Sheppey." 

The  Mayor  put  his  chain  in  his  pocket,  the  Aldermen  took 
off  their  gowns,  the  Town  Clerk  put  his  pen  behind  his  ear.  It 
was  a  county  business  altogetJier : — the  Sheriff  had  better  call 
out  the  posse  comitatus. 

While  saints  and  sinners  were  thus  leaguing  against  him,  the 
Baron  de  Shurland  was  quietly  eating  his  breakfast.  He  had 
passed  a  tranquil  night,  undisturbed  by  dreams  of  cowl  or 
capuchin ;  nor  was  his  appetite  more  affected  than  his  con- 
science. On  the  contrary,  he  sat  rather  longer  over  his  meal 
than  usual :  luncheon  time  came,  and  he  was  ready  as  ever  for 
his  oysters  ;  but  scarcely  had  Dame  Martin  opened  his  first  half- 
dozen  when  the  warder's  horn  was  heard  from  the  barbican. 

"Who  the  devil's  that?"  said  Sir  Robert.  "I'm  not  at 
home,  Periwinkle.  I  hate  to  be  disturbed  at  meals,  and  I 
won't  be  at  home  to  anybody." 

"  An't  please  your  lordship,"  answered  the  Seneschal,  "  Paul 
Prior  hath  given  notice  that  there  is  a  body " 

"  Another  body !"  roared  the  Baron.  "  Am  I  to  be  everlast- 
ingly plagued  with  bodies — no  time  allowed  me  to  swallow  a 
morsel  ?     Throw  it  into  the  moat !" 

"  So  please  you,  my  lord,  it  is  a  body  of  horse, — and — and 
Paul  says  there  is  a  still  larger  body  of  foot  behind  it ;  and  he 
thinks,  my  lord — that  is,  he  does  not  know,  but  he  thinks — and 
we  all  think,  my  lord — that  they  are  coming  to — to  besiege  the 
castle !" 

"  Besiege  the  castle !     Who?     What?     What  for?" 

"  Paul  says,  my  lord,  that  he  can  see  the  banner  of  St.  Aus- 
tin, and  the  bleeding  heart  of  Hamo  de  Crevecoeur,  the  Abbot's 
chief  vassal ;  and  there  is  John  de  Northwood,  the  sheriff,  with 
his  red  cross  engrailed ;  and  Hever,  and  Leybourne,  and  Heaven 
knows  how  many  more ;  and  they  are  all  coming  on  as  fast  as 
ever  they  can." 

"Periwinkle,"  said  the  Baron,  "up  with  the  drawbridge; 
down  with  the  portcullis.  Bring  me  a  cup  of  canary  and  my 
nightcap.     I  won't  be  bothered  with  them  :  I  shall  go  to  bed." 

"  To  bed,  my  lord  !"  cried  Periwinkle,  with  a  look  that  seemed 
to  say,  "  He's  crazy !" 


A   LEGEXD    OF  SIIEITEY.  71 

At  this  moment  tlic  shriU  tones  of  a  trumpet  were  heard  to 
sound  thrice  fi'om  the  champaign.  It  Avas  the  signal  for  par- 
ley. The  Baron  changed  his  mind :  instead  of  going  to  bed, 
he  went  to  the  ramparts. 

"  Well,  rapscallions !  and  what  now  ?"  said  the  Baron. 

A  herald,  two  pursuivants,  and  a  trumpeter,  occupied  the 
foreground  of  the  scene ;  behind  them,  some  three  hundred  paces 
off,  upon  a  rising  ground,  was  drawn  up  ia  battle  array  the 
main  body  of  the  ecclesiastical  forces. 

"  Hear  you,  Kobert  de  Shurland,  Knight,  Baron  of  Shurland 
and  Minster,  and  Lord  of  Sheppey,  and  know  all  men  by  these 
presents,  that  I  do  hereby  attach  you,  the  said  Robert,  of  mur- 
der and  sacrilege,  now  or  of  late  done  and  committed  by  you, 
the  said  Robert,  contrary  to  the  peace  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  the 
King,  his  crown  and  dignity ;  and  I  do  hereby  require  and  charge 
you,  the  said  Robert,  to  forthwith  surrender  and  give  ^p  your 
own  proper  person,  together  with  the  castle  of  Shurland  afore- 
said, in  order  that  the  same  may  be  duly  dealt  with  according 
to  law.  And  here  standeth  John  de  Northwood,  Esquire,  good 
man  and  true,  sheriff  of  this  his  Majesty's  most  loyal  county  of 
Kent,  to  enforce  the  same,  if  need  be,  with  hispod'se  comitaius " 

"  His  what  ?"  said  the  Baron. 

"  His  posse  comitaius,  and " 

"  Go  to  Bath  !"  said  the  Baron. 

A  defiance  so  contemptuous  roused  the  ire  of  the  adverse 
commanders.  A  volley  of  missiles  rattled  about  the  Baron's 
ears.  Nightcaps  avail  little  against  contusions.  He  left  the 
walls  and  returned  to  the  great  hall. 

"  Let  them  pelt  away,"  quoth  the  Baron  :  "  there  are  no  win- 
dows to  break,  and  they  can't  get  in."  So  he  took  his  after- 
noon nap,  and  the  siege  went  on. 

Towards  evening  his  lordship  awoke,  and  grew  tired  of  the 
din,  Guy  Pearson,  too,  had  got  a  black  eye  from  a  brickbat, 
and  the  assailants  w^ere  clambering  over  the  outer  wall.  So 
the  Baron  called  for  his  Sunday  hauberk  of  Milan  steel  and 
his  great  two-handed  sword  with  the  terrible  name.  It  was  the 
fa>shion  in  feudal  times  to  give  names  to  swords :  King  Arthur's 
was  christened  Excalibar;  the  Baron  called  his  Tickletoby, 
and  whenever  he  took  it  in  hand  it  was  no  joke. 


72  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

"Up  with  the  portcullis!  down  with  the  bridge!"  said  Sir 
Robert ;  and  out  he  sallied,  followed  by  the  elite  of  his  retain- 
ers. Then  there  was  a  pi-etty  to-do.  Heads  flew  one  way, 
arms  and  legs  another.  Round  went  Tickletoby ;  and  wher- 
ever it  alighted,  down  came  horse  and  man.  The  Baron  ex- 
celled himself  that  day.  All  that  he  had  done  in  Palestine 
faded  in  the  comparison ;  he  had  fought  for  fun  there,  but  now 
it  was  for  life  and  lands.  Away  went  John  de  Northwood ; 
away  went  AVilliam  of  Hever  and  Roger  of  Leybourne.  Hamo 
de  CreveccEur,  with  the  church  vassals  and  the  banner  of  St. 
Austin,  had  been  gone  some  time.  The  siege  was  raised,  and 
the  Lord  of  Sheppey  was  left  alone  in  his  glory. 

But,  brave  as  the  Baron  undoubtedly  Avas,  and  total  as  had 
been  the  defeat  of  his  enemies,  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  Xa 
Stoccata  would  be  allowed  to  carry  it  away  thus.  It  has  before 
been  hfnted  that  Abbot  Auselm  had  written  to  the  Pope,  and 
Boniface  the  Eighth  piqued  himself  on  his  punctuality  as  a 
correspondent  in  all  matters  connected  with  church  discipline. 
He  sent  back  an  answer  by  return  of  post ;  and  by  it  all  Chris- 
tian people  were  strictly  enjoined  to  aid  in  exterminating  the 
offender,  on  pain  of  the  greater  excommunication  in  this  world, 
and  a  million  of  years  of  purgatory  in  the  next.  But  then, 
again,  Boniface  the  Eighth  was  rather  at  a  discount  in  England 
just  then.  He  had  affronted  Longshanks,  as  the  royal  lieges 
had  nicknamed  their  monarch ;  and  Longshanks  had  been 
rather  sharp  upon  the  clergy  in  consequence.  If  the  Baron 
de  Shurland  could  but  get  the  King's  pardon  for  what,  in  his 
cooler  moments,  he  admitted  to  be  a  peccadillo,  he  might  sniff 
at  the  Pope,  and  bid  him  "  do  his  devilmost." 

Fortune,  who,  as  the  poet  says,  delights  to  favor  the  bold, 
stood  his  friend  on  this  occasion.  Edward  had  been  for  some 
time  collecting  a  large  force  on  the  coast  of  Kent,  to  carry  on 
his  French  wars  for  the  recovery  of  Guienne ;  he  was  expected 
shortly  to  review  it  in  person ;  but,  then,  the  troops  lay  princi- 
pally in  cantonments  about  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  and  his 
Majesty  was  to  come  down  by  water.  What  was  to  be  done  ? — 
the  royal  barge  was  in  sight,  and  John  de  Northwood  and 
Hamo  de  Creveca?.ur  had  broken  up  all  the  boats  to  boil  their 
camp-kettles.     A  truly  great  mind  is  never  without  resources. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SUEPPEY.  73 

"  Bring  me  my  boots !"  said  the  Baron. 

They  brought  him  his  boots,  and  his  dapple-gray  steed  along 
with  them.  Such  a  courser!  all  blood  and  bone,  short-backed, 
broad-chested,  and — but  that  he  was  a  little  ewe-necked — fault- 
less in  form  and  figure.  The  Baron  sprang  upon  his  back,  and 
dashed  at  once  into  the  river. 

The  barge  which  carried  Edward  Longshanks  and  his  for- 
tunes had  by  this  time  nearly  reached  the  Nore;  the  stream 
was  broad  and  the  current  strong,  but  Sir  Robert  and  his  steed 
were  almost  as  broad,  and  a  great  deal  stronger.  After  breast- 
ing the  tide  gallantly  for  a  couple  of  miles,  the  knight  was  near 
enough  to  hail  the  steersman. 

"  What  have  we  got  here  ?"  said  the  King.  "  It's  a  mer- 
maid," said  one.  "It's  a  grampus,"  said  another.  "It's  the 
devil,"  said  a  third.  But  they  were  all  wrong;  it  was  only 
Robert  de  Shurland.  "  Grammercy,"  said  the  King,  "  that 
fellow  was  never  born  to  be  drowned !" 

It  has  been  said  before  that  the  Baron  had  fought  in  the  Holy 
Wars ;  in  fact,  he  had  accompanied  Longshanks,  when  only  heir 
apparent,  in  his  expedition  twenty-five  years  before,  although 
his  name  is  unaccountably  omitted  by  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  in  his 
list  of  crusaders.  He  had  been  present  at  Acre  when  Amirand 
of  Joppa  stabbed  the  prince  with  a  poisoned  dagger,  and  had 
lent  Princess  Eleanor  his  own  tooth-brush  after  she  had  sucked 
out  the  venom  from  the  wound.  He  had  slain  certain  Saracens, 
contented  himself  with  his  own  plunder,  and  never  dunned  the 
commissariat  for  arrears  of  pay.  Of  course  he  ranked  high  in 
Edward's  good  graces,  and  had  received  the  honor  of  knight- 
hood at  his  hands  on  the  field  of  battle. 

In  one  so  circumstanced  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  such  a 
trifle  as  the  killing  of  a  frowzy  friar  would  be  much  resented, 
even  had  he  not  taken  so  bold  a  measure  to  obtain  his  pardon. 
His  petition  was  granted,  of  course,  as  soon  as  asked  ;  and  so  it 
would  have  been  had  the  indictment  drawn  up  by  the  Canter- 
bury town-clerk,  viz.,  "  That  he,  the  said  Robert  de  Shurland, 
etc,  had  then  and  there,  with  several,  to  wit,  one  thousand, 
pairs  of  boots,  given  sundry,  to  wit,  two  thousand,  kicks,  and 
therewith  and  thereby  killed  divers,  to  wit,  ten  thousand, 
Austin  Friars,"  been  true  to  the  letter. 


74  GRAY  DOLPniN. 

Thrice  did  tlie  gallant  gray  circumnavigate  the  barge,  while 
Robert  do  Winclielsey,  the  chancellor  and  archbishop  to  boot, 
was  making  out,  albeit  with  great  reluctance,  the  royal  pardon. 
The  interval  was  sufficiently  long  to  enable  his  JNIajesty,  who, 
gracious  as  he  was,  had  always  au  eye  to  business,  just  to  hint 
that  the  gratitude  he  felt  towards  the  Baron  was  not  unmixed 
with  a  lively  sense  of  services  to  come ;  and  that,  if  life  were 
now  spared  him,  comnioa  decency  must  oblige  him  to  make 
himself  useful.  Before  the  archbishop,  who  had  scalded  his 
fingera  with  the  wax  in  affixing  the  great  seal,  had  time  to  take 
them  out  of  his  mouth,  all  was  settled,  and  the  Baron  de  Shur- 
land  had  pledged  himself  to  be  forthwith  in  readiness,  cum  suis, 
to  accompany  his  liege  lord  to  Guienne. 

"With  the  royal  pardon  secured  in  his  vest,  boldly  did  his 
lordship  turn  again  to  the  shore ;  and  as  boldly  did  his  courser 
oppose  his  breadth  of  chest  to  the  stream.  It  was  a  work  of 
no  common  difficulty  or  danger ;  a  steed  of  less  "  mettle  and 
bone"  had  long  since  sunk  in  the  effort:  as  it  was,  the  Baron's 
boots  were  full  of  water,  and  Gray  Dolphin's  chamfrain  more 
than  once  dipped  beneath  the  wave.  The  convulsive  snorts  of 
the  noble  animal  showed  his  distress ;  each  instant  they  became 
more  loud  and  frequent ;  Avhen  his  hoof  touched  the  strand,  and 
"  the  horse  and  his  rider "  stood  once  again  in  safety  on  the 
shore. 

Rapidly  dismounting,  the  Baron  was  loosening  the  girths  of 
his  demi-pique,  to  give  the  panting  animal  breath,  when  he  was 
aware  of  as  ugly  an  old  woman  as  he  had  ever  clapped  eyes 
upon,  peeping  at  him  under  the  horse's  belly. 

"  Make  much  of  your  steed,  Robert  Shurland !  Make  much 
of  your  steed !"  cried  the  hag,  shaking  at  him  her  long  and 
bony  finger.  "  Groom  to  the  hide,  and  corn  to  the  manger ! 
He  has  saved  your  life,  Robert  Shurland,  for  the  nonce ;  but  he 
shall  yet  be  the  means  of  your  losing  it  for  all  that !" 

The  Baron  started  :  "  What's  that  you  say,  you  old  fagot  ?" 
He  ran  round  by  his  horse's  tail ;  the  woman  was  gone ! 

The  Baron  paused  ;  his  great  soul  was  not  to  be  shaken  by 
trifles  ;  he  looked  around  him,  and  solemnly  ejaculated  the  word 
"Humbug!"  then,  slinging  the  bridle  across  his  arm,  walked 
slowly  on  in  the  dii'ectiou  of  the  castle. 


A    LEGEND    OF  RUErPEY.  75 

The  api^earance,  and  still  more  the  disappcavanco,  of  the 
crone  had,  however,  made  an  impression  ;  every  step  he  took  he 
became  more  thoughtful.  "  'Twould  be  deuced  provoking, 
though,  if  he  sliould  break  my  neck  after  all."  He  turned  and 
gazed  at  Dolphin  with  the  scrutinizing  eye  of  a  veterinary  sur- 
geon.    "  I'll  be  shot  if  he  is  not  groggy !"  said  the  Baron. 

"With  his  lordship,  like  another  great  commander,  "  Once  to 
be  in  doubt,  was  once  to  be  resolved  :"  it  would  never  do  to  go  to 
the  wars  on  a  rickety  prad.  He  dropped  the  rein,  drew  forth 
Tickletoby,  and,  as  the  enfranchised  Dolphin,  good  easy  horse, 
stretched  out  his  ewe-neck  to  the  herbage,  struck  off  his  head 
at  a  single  blow.  "  There,  you  lying  old  beldame !"  said  the 
Baron ;  "  now  take  him  away  to  the  knacker's." 


Three  years  were  come  and  gone.  King  Edward's  French 
wars  were  over ;  both  parties  having  fought  till  they  came  to  a 
stand-still,  shook  hands,  and  the  quarrel,  as  usual,  Avas  patched 
up  by  a  royal  marriage.  This  haj^py  event  gave  his  Majesty 
leisure  to  turn  his  attention  to  Scotland,  where  things,  through 
the  intervention,  of  William  Wallace,  were  looking  rather 
queerish.  As  his  reconciliation  with  Philip  now  allowed  of  his 
fighting  the  Scotch  in  peace  and  quietness,  the  monarch  lost  no 
time  in  marching  his  long  legs  across  the  border,  and  the  short 
ones  of  the  Baron  followed  him  of  course.  At  Falkirk,  Tickle- 
toby was  in  great  request ;  and  in  the  year  following,  we  find  a 
contemporary  poet  hinting  at  his  master's  prowess  under  the 
walls  of  Caerlaverock — 

3Li  itau  3Roiitrt  i&t  S^urlanlJ 
Iti  feant  stoi't  jerur  \t  t\t\z\ 
Njs:  semi  Id  it  fj  o  mt  fej  5o  m  E  illt. 

A  quatrain  which  Mr.  Simpkinson  translates, 

"  With  them  was  marching 
The  good  Robert  de  Shiirland, 
Who,  when  seated  on  horseback, 
Does  not  resemble  a  man  asleep !" 

So  thoroughly  awake,  indeed,  does  he  seem  to  have  proved 


76  GRAY  DOLPUIX. 

himself,  that  the  bard  subsequently  exclaims  in  an  ecstasy  of 
admiration, 

5i  u  tstoij  uitt  puitlttlt 
3t  li  ioitru  xiut  a  tors 
ilaitt  tst  it  lu  ions  li  tetots. 

"  K  I  were  &  young  maiden, 
I  would  give  mv  heart  and  person, 
So  great  is  his  fsune !" 

Fortunately  the  poet  was  a  tough  old  monk  of  Exeter ;  since 
such  a  present  to  a  nobleman,  now  in  his  grand  climacteric, 
would  hardly  have  been  worth  the  carriage.  With  the  reduc- 
tion of  this  stronghold  of  the  Maxwells  seem  to  have  concluded 
the  Baron's  military  services ;  as  on  the  very  first  day  of  the 
fourteenth  century  we  find  him  once  more  landed  on  his  native 
shore,  and  marching,  with  such  of  his  retainers  as  the  wars  bad 
lefic  him,  towards  the  hospitable  shelter  of  Shurland  Castle.  It 
was  then,  upon  that  very  beach,  some  hundred  yards  distant 
fi-om  high-water  mark,  that  his  eye  fell  upon  something  like  an 
ugly  old  woman  in  a  red  cloak.  She  was  seated  on  what  seemed 
to  be  a  large  stone,  in  an  interesting  attitude,  with  her  elbows 
resting  upon  her  knees,  and  her  chin  upon  her  thumbs.  The 
Baron  started :  the  remembrance  of  his  interview  with  a  similar 
personage  in  the  same  place,  some  three  yeai*s  since,  flashed 
upon  his  recollection.  He  rushed  towards  the  spot,  but  the 
form  was  gone  ; — nothing  remained  but  the  seat  it  had  appeared 
to  occupy.  This,  on  examination,  turned  out  to  be  no  stone, 
but  the  whitened  skull  of  a  dead  horse!  A  tender  remem- 
brance of  the  deceased  Gray  Dolphin  shot  a  momentary  pang 
into  the  Baron's  bosom ;  he  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
his  face ;  the  thought  of  the  hag's  prediction  in  an  instant  rose, 
and  banished  all  sotler  emotions.  In  utter  contempt  of  his  own 
weakness,  yet  with  a  tremor  that  deprived  his  redoubtable  kick 
of  half  its  wonted  force,  he  spurned  the  relic  with  his  foot. 
One  word  alone  issued  from  his  lips,  elucidatory  of  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind — it  long  remained  imprinted  on  the  mem- 
ory of  his  faithful  followers — that  word  was  '"  Gammon  I"  The 
skull  bounded  across  the  beach  till  it  reached  the  very  margin 
of  the  stream : — one  instant  more  and  it  would  be  engulfed 
for  ever.     At  that  moment  a  loud  "  Ha !  ha !  ha  I"  was  dis- 


A    LEGEND    OF  SIIEPI'EY.  77 

tinctly  heard  by  the  whole  train  to  issue  from  its  bleaclicd  and 
toothless  jaws:  it  sank  beneath  the  flood  in  a  horse  hiu;^h. 

Meanwhile  Sir  Kobert  de  kShurland  felt  an  odd  sort  of  sensa- 
tion in  his  right  foot.  His  boots  had  suffered  in  the  wars.  Great 
pains  had  been  taken  for  their  preservation.  They  had  been 
"soled"  and  "heeled"  more  than  onee; — had  they  been"  go- 
loshed,"  their  owner  might  have  defied  Fate !  Well  has  it  been 
said  that  "  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  trifle."  A  nobleman's 
life  depended  upon  a  question  of  ninepence. 

The  Baron  marched  on  ;  the  uneasiness  in  his  foot  increased. 
He  plucked  ofi"  his  boot ; — a  hoi*se's  tooth  was  sticking  in  his 
great  toe ! 

The  result  may  be  anticipated.  Lame  as  he  was,  his  lordship, 
with  characteristic  decision,  would  hobble  on  to  Shurland ;  his 
walk  increased  the  inflammation  ;  a  flagon  of  aqua  vitw  did  not 
mend  matters.  He  was  in  a  high  fever ;  he  took  to  his  bed. 
Next  morning  the  toe  presented  the  appearance  of  a  Bedford.- 
shire  carrot ;  by  dinner-time  it  had  deepened  to  a  beet-root ;  and 
when  Bargrave,  the  leech,  at  last  sliced  it  off",  the  gangrene  was 
too  confirmed  to  admit  of  remedy.  Dame  ]\Iartin  thought  it 
high  time  to  send  for  Miss  Margaret,  who,  ever  since  her 
mother's  death,  had  been  living  wdth  her  maternal  aunt,  the 
abbess,  in  the  Ursuline  convent  at  Greenwich.  The  young  lady 
came,  and  with  her  came  one  Master  Ingoldsby,  her  cousin- 
german  by  the  mother's  side ;  but  the  Baron  was  too  far  gone 
in  the  dead-thraw  to  recognize  either.  He  died  as  he  lived, 
unconquered  and  unconquerable.     His  last  words  were— r"  Tell 

the  old  hag  she  may  go  to ."     Whither  remains  a  secret. 

He  expired  without  fully  articulating  the  place  of  her  destina- 
tion. 

But  who  and  what  tvas  the  crone  who  prophesied  the  catas- 
trophe ?  Ay,  "  that  is  the  mystery  of  this  wonderful  history." 
Some  say  it  was  Dame  Fothergill,  the  late  confessor's  mamma ; 
others,  St.  Bridget  herself;  others  thought  it  was  nobody  at  all, 
but  only  a  phantom  conjured  up  by  conscience.  As  we  do  not 
know,  we  decline  giving  an  opinion. 

And  what  became  of  the  Clerk  of  Chatham  ? — Mr.  Simpkin- 
son  avers  that  he  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  and  was  at  last  hanged 
by  Jack  Cade,  with  his  inkhorn  about  his  neck,  for  "  setting 


78  GRAY  DOLPHIN. 

boys  copies."  In  support  of  this  he  adduces  his  uame  "  Em- 
raauuel,"  and  refers  to  the  historian  Shakspeare.  Mr.  Peters, 
on  the  contrary,  considers  this  to  be  what  he  calls  one  of  Mr. 
Simpkinson's  "  Anacreonisms,"  inasmuch  as,  at  the  introduction 
of  Mr.  Cade's  reform  measure,  the  Clerk,  if  alive,  would  have 
been  hard  upon  two  hundred  years  old.  The  probability  is  that 
the  unfortunate  alluded  to  was  his  great-grandson. 

Margaret  Shurlaud  in  due  course  became  Margaret  Ingoldsby : 
her  portrait  still  hangs  in  the  gallery  at  Tappingtou.  The  feat- 
ures are  handsome,  but  shrewish,  betraying,  as  it  were,  a  touch 
of  the  old  Baron's  temperament ;  but  we  never  could  learn  that 
she  actually  kicked  her  husband.  She  brought  him  a  very 
pretty  fortune  in  chains,  owches,  and  Saracen  ear-rings ;  the 
barony,  being  a  male  fief,  reverted  to  the  Crown. 

In  the  abbey-church  at  Minster  may  yet  be  seen  the  tomb  of 
a  recumbent  warrior,  clad  in  the  chain-mail  of  the  thirteenth 
century.*  His  hands  are  clasped  in  prayer ;  his  legs,  crossed 
in  that  position  so  prized  by  Templars  in  ancient  and  tailors  in 
modern  days,  bespeak  him  a  soldier  of  the  faith  in  Palestine. 
Close  behind  his  dexter  calf  lies,  sculptured  in  bold  relief,  a 
horse's  head :  and  a  respectable  elderly  lady,  as  she  shows  the 
monument,  fails  not  to  read  her  auditors  a  fine  moral  lesson  on 
the  sin  of  ingratitude,  or  to  claim  a  sympathizing  tear  to  the 
memory  of  poor  "  Gray  Dolphin !" 


*  Subsequent  to  the  first  appearance  of  the  foregoing  narrative,  the  tomb  alluded  to 
has  been  opened  during  the  course  of  certain  repairs  which  the  church  has  undergone. 
Mr.  Simpkinson,  who  was  present  at  the  exhumation  of  the  body  within,  and  has  en- 
riched his  collection  with  three  of  its  grinders,  says  the  bones  of  one  of  the  great  toes 
were  wanting.  He  speaks  in  terms  of  great  admiration  at  the  thickness  of  the  skull, 
and  is  of  opinion  that  the  skeleton  is  that  of  a  great  patriot  much  addicted  to  Lundy- 
foot. 


TUE   GHOST.  79 

It  is  on  my  owu  personal  reminiscences  that  I  draw  for  the 
following  story :  the  scene  of  its  leading  event  was  most  familiar 
to  me  in  early  life.  If  the  principal  actor  in  it  be  yet  living, 
he  must  have  reached  a  very  advanced  age.  He  was  often 
at  the  Hall,  in  my  infancy,  on  professional  visits.  It  is,  how- 
over,  only  from  those  who  "  prated  of  his  whereabouts  "  that  I 
learned  the  history  of  this  adventure  with 


^"^HERE  stands  a  City, — neither  large  nor  small, — 
-L    Its  air  and  situation  sweet  and  jiretty  ; 
It  matters  very  little^^ — if  at  all — 

Whether  its  denizens  are  dull  or  witty. 
Whether  the  ladies  there  are  short  or  tall. 

Brunettes  or  blonds,  only,  there  stands  a  city ! — 
Perhaps  'tis  also  requisite  to  minute 
That  there's  a  Castle  and  a  Cobbler  in  it. 

A  fair  Cathedral,  too,  the  story  goes, 

And  kings  and  heroes  lie  entombed  within  her ; 

There  pious  Saints  in  marble  pomp  repose, 

Whose  shrines  are  worn  by  knees  of  many  a  sinner ; 

There,  too,  full  many  an  Aldermanic  nose 
Rolled  its  loud  diapason  after  dinner  ; 

And  there  stood  high  the  holy  sconce  of  Becket, 

— Till  four  assassins  came  from  France  to  crack  it. 

The  Castle  was  a  huge  and  antique  mound. 
Proof  against  all  th'  artillery  of  the  quiver, 

Ere  those  abominable  guns  were  found, 

To  send  cold  lead  through  gallant  warrior's  liver. 

It  stands  upon  a  gently  rising  ground. 
Sloping  down  gradually  to  the  river. 

Resembling  (to  compare  great  things  with  smaller) 

A  well-scooped,  mouldy  Stilton  cheese — but  taller. 


80  THE   GHOST. 

The  Keep,  I  find,  's  been  sadly  altered  lately, 

And  'stead  of  mail-clad  knights,  of  honor  jealous, 

In  martial  panoply  so  grand  and  stately, 

Its  walls  are  filled  with  money-making  fellows. 

And  stuffed,  unless  I'm  misinformed  greatly. 

With  leaden  pipes,  and  coke,  and  coals,  and  bellows ; 

In  short,  so  great  a  change  has  come  to  pass, 

'Tis  now  a  manufactory  of  Gas. 

But  to  my  tale. — Before  this  profanation, 
And  ere  its  ancient  glories  were  cut  short  all, 

A  poor  hard-working  Cobbler  took  his  station 
In  a  small  house,  just  opposite  the  portal ; 

His  birth,  his  parentage,  and  education, 

I  know  but  little  of — a  strange,  odd  mortal ; 

His  aspect,  air,  and  gait,  were  all  ridiculous ; 

His  name  was  Mason — he'd  been  christened  Nicholas. 

Nick  had  a  wife  possessed  of  many  a  charm, 
And  of  the  Lady  Huntingdon  persuasion ; 

But,  spite  of  all  her  piety,  her  arm 

She'd  sometimes  exercise  when  in  a  passion ; 

And,  being  of  a  temper  somewhat  warm. 

Would  now  and  then  seize,  upon  small  occasion, 

A  stick,  or  stool,  or  anything  that  round  did  lie, 

And  baste  her  lord  and  master  most  confoundedly. 

No  matter ! — 'tis  a  thing  that's  not  uncommon, 

'Tis  what  we  all  have  heard  and  most  have  read  of — 

I  mean  a  bruising,  pugilistic  woman, 
Such  as  I  own  I  entertain  a  dread  of, 

— And  so  did  Nick,  whom  sometimes  there  would  come  on 
A  sort  of  fear  his  Spouse  might  knock  his  head  off, 

Demolish  half  his  teeth,  or  drive  a  rib  in. 

She  shone  so  much  in  "  facers  "  and  in  "  fibbing." 

*'  There's  time  and  place  for  all  things,"  said  a  sage 
(King  Solomon,  I  think),  and  this  I  can  say, 

Within  a  well-roped  ring,  or  on  a  stage. 
Boxing  may  be  a  very  pretty  Fancy, 


THE  GHOST.  81 

When  Messrs.  Burke  or  Beudigo  engage ; 

— 'Tis  not  so  well  in  Susan,  Jane,  or  Nancy : — 
To  get  well  milled  by  any  one's  an  evil. 
But  by  a  lady — 'tis  the  very  devil. 

And  so  thought  Nicholas,  whose  only  trouble 

(At  least  his  worst)  was  this  his  rib's  propensity ; 

For  sometimes  from  the  alehouse  he  would  hobble. 
His  senses  lost  in  a  sublime  immensity 

Of  cogitation  ;  then  he  couldn't  cobble — 

And  then  his  wife  would  often  try  the  density 

Of  his  poor  skull,  and  strike  with  all  her  might, 

As  fast  as  kitchen-wenches  strike  a  light. 

Mason,  meek  soul,  who  ever  hated  strife, 

Of  this  same  striking  had  a  morbid  dread ; 
He  hated  it  like  poison — or  his  wife — 

A  vast  antipathy ! — but  so  he  said ; 
And  very  often,  for  a  quiet  life, 

On  these  occasions  he'd  sneak  up  to  bed. 
Grope  darkling  in,  and,  soon  as  at  the  door 
He  heard  his  lady,  he'd  pretend  to  snore. 

One  night,  then,  ever  partial  to  society, 

Nick,  with  a  friend  (another  jovial  fellow), 
Went  to  a  Club — I  should  have  said  Society — 

At  the  "  City  Arms,"  once  called  the  Porto  Bello ; 
A  Spouting  party,  which,  though  some  decry  it,  I 

Consider  no  bad  lounge  when  one  is  mellow ; 
There  they  discuss  the  tax  on  salt  and  leather, 
And  change  of  ministers  and  change  of  weather. 

In  short,  it  was  a  kind  of  British  Forum, 

Like  John  Gale  Jones's,  erst  in  Piccadilly, 
Only  they  managed  things  with  more  decorum, 

And  the  orations  were  not  quite  so  silly  ; 
Far  different  questions,  too,  would  come  before  'em, 

Not  always  politics,  which,  will  ye  nill  ye, 
Their  London  prototypes  were  always  willing 
To  give  one  quantum  suff.  of — for  a  shilling. 
6 


«2  TUI^    GHOST. 

It  more  resembled  one  of  later  date, 

And  tenfold  talent,  as  I'm  told,  in  Bow  Street, 

Where  kindlier-natured  souls  do  congregate ; 

And,  though  there  are  who  deem  that  same  a  low  street, 

Yet,  I'm  assured,  for  frolicsome  debate 

And  genuine  humor,  it's  surpassed  by  no  street, 

When  the  "  Chief  Baron  "  enters,  and  assumes 

To  "rule"  o'er  mimic  "Thesigers"  and  "Broughams." 

Here  they  would  oft  forget  their  Rulers'  faults, 
And  waste  in  ancient  lore  the  midnight  taper ; 

Inquire  if  Orpheus  first  produced  the  Waltz, 
How  Gaslights  difier  from  the  Delphic  Vapor, 

Whether  Hippocrates  gave  Glauber's  Salts, 

And  what  the  Romans  wrote  on  ere  they'd  paper. 

This  night  the  subject  of  their  disquisitions 

Was  Ghosts,  Hobgoblins,  Sprites,  and  Apparitions. 

One  learned  gentleman,  "  a  sage,  grave  man," 

Talked  of  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet,  "  sheathed  in  steel ;" 

His  well-read  friend,  who  next  to  speak  began, 
Said  "  That  was  Poetry,  and  nothing  real ;" 
•  A  third,  of  more  extensive  learning,  ran 

To  Sir  George  Villiers'  Ghost,  and  Mrs.  Veal,— 

Of  sheeted  spectres  spoke  with  shortened  breath, 

And  thrice  he  quoted  "  Drelincourt  on  Death." 

Nick  smoked  and  smoked,  and  trembled  as  he  heard 
The  point  discussed,  and  all  they  said  upon  it : 

How,  frequently,  some  murdered  man  appeared, 
To  tell  his  wife  and  children  who  had  done  it ; 

Or  how  a  Miser's  ghost,  with  grisly  beard, 

And  pale  lean  visage,  in  an  old  Scotch  bonnet, 

Wandered  about  to  watch  his  buried  money ! 

When  all  at  once  Nick  heard  the  clock  strike  One, — he 

Sprang  from  his  seat,  not  doubting  but  a  lecture 
Impended  from  his  fond  and  faithful  She ; 

Nor  could  he  well  to  pardon  him  expect  her. 
For  he  had  promised  to  ''  be  home  to  tea ;" 


THE   GHOST.  83 

But  having  luckily  the  key  o'  the  back  door, 

He  fondly  hoped  that,  unperceived,  he 
Might  creep  up  stairs  again,  pretend  to  doze. 
And  hoax  his  spouse  with  music  from  his  nose. 

Vain,  fruitless  hope ! — The  wearied  sentinel 

At  eve  may  overlook  the  crouching  foe, 
Till,  ere  his  hand  can  sound  the  alarum-bell, 

He  sinks  beneath  the  unexpected  blow ; 
Before  the  whiskers  of  Grimalkin  fell, 

AYhen  slumbering  on  her  post,  the  mouse  may  go — 
But  woman,  wakeful  woman,  's  never  weary, 
— Above  all,  when  she  waits  to  thump  her  deary. 

Soon  Mrs.  Mason  heard  the  well-known  tread ; 

She  heard  the  key  slow  creaking  in  the  door, 
Spied,  through  the  gloom  obscure,  towards  the  bed 

Nick  creeping  soft,  as  oft  he  had  crept  before ; 
When,  bang,  she  threw  a  something  at  his  head, 

And  Nick  at  once  lay  prostrate  on  the  floor ; 
While  she  exclaimed,  with  her  indignant  face  on — 
"  How  dare  you  use  your  wife  so,  Mr.  Mason  ?" 

Spare  we  to  tell  how  fiercely  she  debated, 

Especially  the  length  of  her  oration — 
Spare  we  to  tell  how  Nick  expostulated, 

Roused  by  the  bump  into  a  good  set  passion, 
So  great  that  more  than  once  he  execrated, 

Ere  he  crawled  into  bed  in  his  usual  fashion ; 
— The  Muses  hate  brawls ;  suffice  it  then  to  say, 
He  ducked  below  the  clothes — and  there  he  lay ! 

'Twas  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 

When  churchyards  groan,  and  graves  give  up  their  dead, 
And  many  a  mischievous,  enfranchised  Sprite 

Had  long  since  burst  his  bonds  of  stone  or  lead, 
And  hurried  off,  with  schoolboy-like  delight. 

To  play  his  pranks  near  some  poor  wretch's  bed. 
Sleeping,  perhaps  serenely  as  a  porpoise. 
Nor  dreaming  of  this  fiendish  Habeas  Corpus. 


84  tHE   GHOST. 

Not  so  our  Nicholas  :  his  meditations 

Still  to  the  same  tremendous  theme  recurred, 

The  same  dread  subject  of  the  dark  narrations, 
Which,  backed  with  such  authority,  he'd  heard ; 

Lost  in  his  own  horrific  contemplations, 

He  pondered  o'er  each  well-remembered  word ; 

When  at' the  bed's  foot,  close  beside  the  post. 

He  verily  believed  he  saw — a  Ghost ! 

Plain,  and  more  plain,  the  unsubstantial  Sprite 
To  his  astonished  gaze  each  moment  grew ; 

Ghastly  and  gaunt,  it  reared  its  shadowy  height, 
Of  more  than  mortal  seeming  to  the  view, 

And  round  its  long,  thin,  bony  fingers  drew 
A  tattered  winding-sheet,  of  course  all  white ; — 

The  moon  that  moment  peeping  through  a  cloud, 

Nick  very  plainly  saw  it  through  the  shroud  ! 

And  now  those  matted  locks,  which  never  yet 
Had  yielded  to  the  comb's  unkind  divorce, 

Their  long-contracted  amity  forget. 
And  spring  asunder  with  elastic  force ; 

Nay,  e'en  the  very  cap,  of  texture  coarse, 

Whose  ruby  cincture  crowned  that  brow  of  jet, 

Uprose  in  agony — the  Gorgon's  head 

Was  but  a  type  of  Nick's  up-squatting  in  the  bed. 

From  every  pore  distilled  a  clammy  dew, 

Quaked  every  limb — the  candle,  too,  no  doubt. 

En  rtgle,  would  have  burnt  extremely  blue, 
But  Nick  unluckily  had  put  it  out ; 

And  he,  though  naturally  bold  and  stout, 
In  short,  was  in  a  most  tremendous  stew ; — 

The  room  was  filled  with  a  sulphureous  smell, 

But  where  that  came  from  Mason  could  not  tell. 

All  motionless  the  Spectre  stood — and  now 
Its  rev'rend  form  more  clearly  shone  confest. 

From  the  pale  cheek  a  beard  of  purest  snow 
Descended  o'er  its  venerable  breast ; 


THE   GHOST.  85 

The  thin  gray  hairs,  that  crowned  its  furrowed  brow, 

Told  of  years  long  gone  by. — An  awful  guest 
It  stood,  and  with  an  action  of  command, 
Beckoned  the  Cobbler  with  its  wan  right  hand. 

"  Whence  and  what  art  thou,  Execrable  Shape  ?" 
Nick  might  have  cried,  could  he  have  found  a  tongue, 

But  his  distended  jaws  could  only  gape. 
And  not  a  sound  upon  the  welkin  rung ; 

His  gooseberry  orbs  seemed  as  they  would  have  sprung 
Forth  from  their  sockets — like  a  frightened  Ape 

He  sat  upon  his  haunches,  bolt  upright, 

And  shook,  and  grinned,  and  chattered  with  affright. 

And  still  the  shadowy  finger,  long  and  lean, 
Now  beckoned  Nick,  now  pointed  to  the  door ; 

And  many  an  ireful  glance,  and  frown,  between, 
The  angry  visage  of  the  Phantom  wore. 

As  if  quite  vexed  that  Nick  would  do  no  more 

Than  stare,  without  e'en  asking,  "  What  d'  ye  mean  ?" 

Because,  as  we  are  told — a  sad  old  joke,  too — 

Ghosts,  like  the  ladies,  "  never  speak  till  spoke  to." 

Cowards,  'tis  said,  in  certain  situations. 

Derive  a  sort  of  courage  from  despair. 
And  then  perform,  from  downright  desperation, 

Much  more  than  many  a  bolder  man  would  dare. 
Nick  saw  the  Ghost  was  getting  in  a  passion. 

And  therefore,  groping  till  he  found  the  chair, 
Seized  on  his  awl,  crept  softly  out  of  bed, 
And  followed,  quaking,  whei'e  the  Spectre  led. 

And  down  the  winding  stair,  with  noiseless  tread, 

The  tenant  of  the  tomb  passed  slowly  on  ; 
Each  mazy  turning  of  the  humble  shed 

Seemed  to  his  step  at  once  familiar  grown, 
So  safe  and  sui-e  the  labyrinth  did  he  tread 

As  though  the  domicile  had  been  his  own, 
Though  Nick  himself,  in  passing  through  the  shop, 
Had  almost  broke  his  nose  against  the  mop. 


86  THE   GHOST. 

Despite  its  wooden  bolt,  with  jarring  sound 

The  door  upon  its  hinges  open  flew ; 
And  forth  the  Spirit  issued — yet  around 

It  turned,  as  if  its  follower's  fears  it  knew, 
And,  once  more  beckoning,  pointed  to  the  mound, 

The  antique  Keep,  on  which  the  bright  moon  threw 
With  such  eflfulgence  her  mild  silvery  gleam, 
The  visionary  form  seemed  melting  in  her  beam. 

Beneath  a  pond'rous  archway's  sombre  shade. 
Where  once  the  huge  portcullis  swung  sublime, 

'Mid  ivied  battlements  in  ruin  laid, 
Sole,  sad  memorials  of  the  olden  time, 

The  Phantom  held  its  way — and  though  afraid 
Even  of  the  owls  that  sung  their  vesper  chime, 

Pale  Nicholas  pursued,  its  steps  attending. 

And  wondering  what  on  earth  it  all  would  end  in. 

Within  the  mouldering  fabric's  deep  recess 

At  length  they  reached  a  court  oljscure  and  lone- 
It  seemed  a  drear  and  desolate  wilderness. 

The  blackened  walls  with  ivy  all  o'ergrown ; 
The  night-bird  shrieked  her  note  of  wild  distress, 

Disturbed  upon  her  solitary  throne. 
As  though  indignant  mortal  step  should  dare, 
So  led,  at  such  an  hour,  to  venture  there ! 

— The  apparition  paused,  and  would  have  spoke, 
Pointing  to  what  Nick  thought  an  iron  ring, 

But  then  a  neighboring  chanticleer  awoke. 
And  loudly  'gan  his  early  matins  sing ; 

And  then  "  it  started  like  a  guilty  thing," 
As  that  shrill  clarion  the  silence  broke. 

— We  know  how  much  dead  gentlefolks  eschew 

The  appalling  sound  of  "  Cock-a-doodle-do !" 

The  vision  was  no  more — and  Nick  alone — 
"  His  streamers  waving  "  in  the  midnight  wind. 

Which  through  the  ruins  ceased  not  to  groan ; 

— His  garment,  too,  was  somewhat  short  behind, — 


THE   GHOST.  87 

And,  worst  of  all,  he  knew  not  where  to  find 

The  ring, — which  made  him  most  his  fate  bemoan — 
The  iron  ring, — no  doubt  of  some  trap-door, 
'Neath  which  the  old  dead  Miser  kept  his  store. 

"  What's  to  be  done?"  he  cried  ;  "  'Twere  vain  to  stay- 
Here  in  the  dark  without  a  single  clue — 

Oh,  for  a  candle  now,  or  moonlight  ray ! 

'Fore  George,  I'm  vastly  puzzled  what  to  do  " 

(Then  clapped  his  hand  behind), — "  'Tis  chilly,  too — 
I'll  mark  the  spot,  and  come  again  by  day. 

What  can  I  mark  it  by  ? — Oh,  here's  the  wall — 

The  mortar's  yielding — here  I'll  stick  my  awl !" 

Then  rose  from  earth  to  sky  a  withering  shriek, 

A  loud,  a  long-protracted  note  of  woe. 
Such  as  when  tempests  roar,  and  timbers  creak, 

And  o'er  the  side  the  masts  in  thunder  go ; 
While  on  the  deck  resistless  billows  break, 
■  And  drag  their  victims  to  the  gulfs  below  ; — 
Such  was  the  scream  when,  for  the  want  of  candle, 
Nick  Mason  drove  his  awl  in  up  to  the  handle. 

Scared  by  his  Lady's  heart-appalling  cry. 

Vanished  at  once  poor  Mason's  golden  dream — 

For  dream  it  was ; — and  all  his  visions  high. 

Of  wealth  and  grandeur,  fled  before  that  scream — 

And  still  he  listens  with  averted  eye, 

When  gibing  neighbors  make  "the  Ghost"  their  theme ; 

While  ever  from  that  hour  they  all  declare 

That  Mrs.  Mason  used  a  cushion  in  her  chair ! 


88  THE   CYNOTAPH. 

Confound  not,  I  beseech  thee,  reader,  the  subject  of  the  fol- 
lowing monody  with  the  hapless  hero  of  the  tea-urn,  Cupid,  of 
"  Yow-Yow-ing "  memory.  Tray  was  an  attached  favorite  of 
many  years'  standing.  Most  people  worth  loving  have  had  a 
friend  of  this  kind ;  Lord  Byron  says  he  "  never  had  but  one, 
and  here  he  (the  dog,  not  the  nobleman)  lies !" 

^1)0  atgnotapf). 

Poor  Tray  charm  ant ! 
Poor  Tray  de  mon  ami ! 

Dog-bury  and  Vergers. 

OH !  where  shall  I  bury  my  poor  dog  Tray, 
Now  his  fleeting  breath  has  passed  away  ? — 
Seventeen  years,  I  can  venture  to  say, 
Have  I  seen  him  gambol,  and  frolic,  and  play. 
Evermore  happy,  and  frisky,  and  gay. 
As  though  every  one  of  his  months  was  May, 
And  the  whole  of  his  life  one  long  holiday — 
Now  he's  a  lifeless  lumj)  of  clay, 
Oh !  where  shall  I  bury  my  faithful  Tray  ? 

I  am  almost  tempted  to  think  it  hard 

That  it  may  not  be  there,  in  yon  sunny  churchyard, 

Where  the  green  willows  wave     O'er  the  peaceful  grave. 
Which  holds  all  that  once  was  honest  and  brave, 
Kind,  and  courteous,  and  faithful,  and  true ; 
Qualities,  Tray,  that  were  found  in  you. 
But  it  may  not  be — yon  sacred  ground, 
By  holiest  feelings  fenced  around, 
May  ne'er  within  its  hallowed  bound 
Receive  the  dust  of  a  soulless  hound. 

I  would  not  place  him  in  yonder  fane. 
Where  the  midday  sun  through  the  storied  pane 
Throws  on  the  pavement  a  crimson  stain ; 
Where  the  banners  of  chivalry  heavily  swing 
O'er  the  pinnacled  tomb  of  the  Warrior  King, 
With  helmet  and  shield,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 


THE   CYNOTAPH.  89 

No ! — come  what  may,  ]\Iy  gentle  Tray 
Shan't  be  an  intruder  on  bluff  Harry  Tudor, 
Or  panoplied  monarchs  yet  earlier  and  ruder 

Whom  you  see  on  their  backs,     In  stone  or  in  wax, 
Though  the  Sacristans  now  are  "  forbidden  to  ax  " 
For  what  Mr.  Hume  calls  "  a  scandalous  tax ;" 
While  the  Chartists  insist  they've  a  right  to  go  snacks — 
No ! — Tray's  humble  tomb  would  look  but  shabby 
'Mid  the  sculptured  shrines  of  that  gorgeous  Abbey. 

.Besides,  in  the  place     They  say  there's  not  space 
To  bury  what  wet-nurses  call  a  "  Babby." 
Even  "  Bare  Ben  Jonson,"  that  famous  wight, 
I  am  told,  is  interred  there  bolt  upright. 
In  just  such  a  posture,  beneath  his  bust, 
As  Tray  used  to  sit  in  to  beg  for  a  crust. 

The  epitaph,  too,     AYould  scarcely  do : 
For  what  could  it  say,  but  "  Here  lies  Tray, 
A  very  good  kind  of  a  dog  in  his  day !" 
And  satirical  folks  might  be  apt  to  imagine  it 
Meant  as  a  quiz  on  the  House  of  Plantagenet. 

No !  no ! — The  Abbey  may  do  very  well 

For  a  feudal  "  Nob,"  or  poetical  "  Swell," 

"  Crusaders,"  or  "  Poets,"  or  "  Knights  of  St.  John," 

Or  Knights  of  St.  John's  Wood,  who  once  went  on 

To  the  (Q:agtle  of  ©ootic  2Loctie  iSglintoune. 

Count  Fiddle-fumkin,  and  Lord  Fiddle-faddle, 

"Sir  Cravan,"  "Sir  Gael,"  and  "Sir  Campbell  of  Saddell" 

(Who,  as  poor  Hook  said,  when  he  heard  of  the  feat, 

"  Was  somehow  knocked  out  of  his  family-seat ") ; 

The  Esquires  of  the  body     To  my  Lord  Tomnoddy  ; 
"  Sir  Fairlie,"  "  Sir  Lambe," 
And  the  "  Knight  of  the  Ram," 
The  "  Knight  of  the  Rose,"  and  the  "  Knight  of  the  Dragon," 

Who,  save  at  the  flagon.     And  prog  in  the  Avagon, 
The  newspapers  tell  us  did  little  "  to  brag  on ;" 

And  more,  though  the  Muse  knows  but  little  concerning  'em, 
"  Sir  Hopkins,"  "  Sir  Popkins,"  "  Sir  Gage,"  and  "  Sir  Jerning- 
ham," — 


90  THE   CYNOTAPH. 

All  Preux  Chevaliers,  in  friendly  rivalry 

Who  should  best  bring  back  the  glory  of  Chi-valry. — 

— (Pray  be  so  good,  for  the  sake  of  my  song, 

To  pronounce  here  the  ante-penultimate  long ; 

Or  some  hyper-critic  will  certainly  cry, 

"  The  word  '  Chivalry '  is  but  a  rhyme  to  the  eye." 

And  I  own  it  is  clear     A  fastidious  ear 
Will  be,  more  or  less,  always  annoyed  with  you  when  you 
Insert  any  rhyme  that's  not  perfectly  genuine. 

As  to  pleasing  the  "  eye,"     'Tisn't  worth  while  to  try, 
Since  Moore  and  Tom  Campbell  themselves  admit  "  Spinach ' 
Is  perfectly  antiphonetic  to  "  Greenwich.") — 
But  stay ! — I  say ! 
Let  me  pause  while  I  may — 
This  digression  is  leading  me  sadly  astray 
From  my  object — a  grave  for  my  2)oor  dog  Tray ! 

I  would  not  place  him  beneath  thy  walls, 

And  proud  o'ershadowing  dome,  St.  Paul's ! 

Though  I've  always  considered  Sir  Christopher  Wren, 

As  an  architect,  one  of  the  greatest  of  men ; 

And,  talking  of  Epitaphs, — much  I  admire  his, 

"Circumspice  si  MonuTnentum  requiris;" 

Which  an  erudite  Verger  translated  to  me, 

"  If  you  ask  for  his  monument,  Sir-come-spy-see  f" — 

No ! — I  should  not  know  where     To  place  him  there ; 
I  would  not  have  him  by  surly  Johnson  be ; — 
Or  that  queer-looking  horse  that  is  rolling  on  Ponsonby ; — 

Or  those  ugly  minxes     The  sister  Sphynxes, 
Mixed  creatures,  half  lady,  half  lioness,  ergo 
(Denon  says),  the  emblems  of  Leo  and  Virgo; 
On  one  of  the  backs  of  which  singular  jumble, 
Sir  Ralph  Abercrombie  is  going  to  tumble, 
With  a  thump  which  alone  were  enough  to  despatch  him, 
If  the  Scotchman  in  front  shouldn't  happen  to  catch  him. 

No !  I'd  not  have  him  there, — nor  nearer  the  door, 
Where  the  man  and  the  Angel  have  got  Sir  John  Moore,* 

*  See  note  at  end  of  "  The  Cynotaph." 


THE   CYNOTAPH.  91 

And  are  quietly  letting  him  down  through  the  floor, 
By  Gillespie,  the  one  Avho  escaped,  at  Vellore, 

Alone  from  the  row ; —    Neither  he  nor  Lord  Howe 
Would  like  to  be  plagued  with  a  little  Bow-wow. 

No,  Tray,  we  must  yield.     And  go  further  a-field ; 
To  lay  you  by  Nelson  were  downright  efiront'ry ; 
— We'll  be  ofi"  from  the  City,  and  look  at  the  country. 

It  shall  not  be  there,     In  that  sepulchred  square, 
Where  folks  are  interred  for  the  sake  of  the  air 
(Though,  pay  but  the  dues,  they  could  hardly  refuse 
To  Tray  what  they  grant  to  Thugs,  and  Hindoos, 
Turks,  Infidels,  Heretics,  Jumpers,  and  Jews), 

Where  the  tombstones  are  placed     In  the  very  hesl  taste. 

At  the  feet  and  the  head     Of  the  elegant  Dead, 
And  no  one's  received  who's  not  "  buried  in  lead :" 
For,  there  lie  the  bones  of  Deputy  Jones, 
Whom  the  widow's  tears  and  the  orphan's  groans 
Afiected  as  much  as  they  do  the  stones 
His  executors  laid  on  the  Deputy's  bones ; 

Little  rest,  poor  knave !     Would  Tray  have  in  his  grave; 

Since  Spirits,  'tis  plain,     Are  sent  back  again, 
To  roam  round  their  bodies, — the  bad  ones  in  pain, — 
Dragging  after  them  sometimes  a  heavy  jack-chain ; 
Whenever  they  met,  alarmed  by  its  groans,  his 
Ghost  all  night  long  would  be  barking  at  Jones's. 

Nor  shall  he  be  laid     By  that  cross  old  maid, 
Miss  Penelope  Bird, — of  whom  it  is  said 
All  the  dogs  in  the  parish  were  ever  afraid. 

He  must  not  be  placed     By  one  so  strait-laced 
In  her  temper,  her  taste,  her  morals,  and  waist. 
For  'tis  said,  when  she  went  up  to  Heaven,  and  St.  Peter, 

Who  happened  to  meet  her,     Came  forward  to  greet  her, 
She  pursed  up  with  scorn  every  vinegar  feature. 
And  bade  him  "  Get  out  for  a  horrid  Male  Creature !" 
So  the  Saint,  after  looking  as  if  he  could  eat  her, 
Not  knowing,  perhaps,  very  well  how  to  treat  her, 


92  TEE   CYNOTAPH. 

And  not  being  willing, — or  able, — to  beat  her, 

Sent  her  back  to  her  grave  till  her  temper  grew  sweeter, 

With  an  epithet  which  I  decline  to  repeat  here. 

No, — if  Tray  were  interred     By  Penelope  Bird, 
No  dog  would  be  e'er  so  be-"  whelp  "ed  and  be-"  cur  "red- 
All  the  night  long  her  cantankerous  Sprite 
Would  be  running  about  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Chasing  him  round,  and  attempting  to  lick 
The  ghost  of  poor  Tray  with  the  ghost  of  a  stick. 

Stay ! — let  me  see ! —    Ay — here  it  shall  be 
At  the  root  of  this  gnarled  and  time-worn  tree, 

Where  Tray  and  I     Would  often  lie, 
And  watch  the  bright  clouds  as  they  floated  by 
In  the  broad  expanse  of  the  clear  blue  sky. 
When  the  sun  was  bidding  the  world  good-bye ; 
And  the  plaintive  Nightingale,  warbling  nigh. 
Poured  forth  her  mournful  melody  ; 
While  the  tender  Wood-pigeon's  cooing  cry 
Has  made  me  say  to  myself,  with  a  sigh, 
"  How  nice  you  would  eat  with  a  steak  in  a  pie !" 

Ay,  here  it  shall  be ! — far,  far  from  the  view 
Of  the  noisy  world  and  its  maddening  crew ; 

Simple  and  few.     Tender  and  true, 
The  lines  o'er  his  grave. — They  have,  some  of  them,  too. 
The  advantage  of  being  remarkably  new. 

3Hpitaplj. 

Affliction  sore     Long  time  he  bore. 
Physicians  were  in  vain  ! — 

Grown  blind,  alas !  he'd     Some  Prussic  Acid, 
And  that  put  him  out  of  his  pain ! 


Note,  Page  90. 

In  the  autumn  of  1824,  Captain  Medwin  having  hinted  that  certain 
beautiful  lines  on  the  burial  of  this  gallant  officer  might  have  been  the 
production  of  Lord  Byron's  Muse,  the  late  Mr.  Sydney  Taylor,  some- 


THE   CYNOTAPH.  93 

.  what  indignantly,  claimed  them  for  their  rightful  owner,  the  Rev. 
Charles  Wolfe.  During  the  controversy  a  third  claimant  startuil  up  in 
the  person  of  a  soi-disant  "Doctor  Marshall,"  who  turned  out  to  be  a 
Durham  blacksmith,  and  his  pretensions  a  hoax.  It  was  then  that  a 
certain  "Doctor  Peppercorn"  put  forth  his  pretensions,  to  what  he 
averred  was  the  only  "  true  and  original"  version,  viz. — 

Not  a  sous  had  he  got, — not  a  guinea  or  note, 

And  he  looked  confoundedly  flurried. 
As  he  bolted  away  without  paying  his  shot, 

And  the  Landlady  after  him  hurried. 

We  saw  him  again  at  dead  of  night. 

When  home  from  the'Club  returning; 
We  twigged  the  Doctor  beneath  the  light 

Of  the  gas-lamp  brilliantly  burning. 

All  bare,  and  exposed  to  the  midnight  dews, 

Reclined  in  the  gutter  we  found  him : 
And  he  looked  like  a  gentleman  taking  a  snooze, 

With  his  Slarshall  cloak  around  him. 

"  The  Doctor's  as  drunk  as  the  devil,"  we  said, 
And  we  managed  a  shutter  to  borrow ; 
We  raised  him,  and  sighed  at  the  thought  that  his  head 
Would  "  consumedly  ache  "  on  the  morrow. 

We  bore  him  home,  and  we  jiut  him  to  bed, 

And  we  told  his  wife  and  his  daughter 
To  give  him,  next  morning,  a  couple  of  red 

Herrings,  with  soda-water. — 

Loudly  they  talked  of  his  money  that's  gone, 

And  his  Lady  began  to  upbraid  him ; 
But  little  he  reck'd,  so  they  let  him  snore  on 

'Neath  the  counterpane  just  as  we  laid  him. 

We  tuck'd  him  in,  and  had  hardly  done 

Wh'en,  beneath  the  window  calling. 
We  heard  the  rough  voice  of  a  son  of  a  gun 

Of  a  watchman  "  One  o'clock !"  bawling.   ^ 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  all  walked  down 

From  his  room  in  the  ui^permost  story ; 
A  rushlight  we  placed  on  the  cold  hearth-stone, 

And  we  left  him  alone  in  his  glory. 


Hos  ego  versiculos  feci,  tulit  alter  honores. — Yikgil. 
I  wrote  the  lines — *  *  owned  them — he  told  stories ! 

Thomas  Ingoldsby. 


94  THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE. 


MRS.   BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 


^f)e  Heed)  Df  Jfolifecistone. 

READER,  were  you  ever  bewitched  ? — I  do  not  mean  by  a 
"  white  wench's  black  eye,"  or  by  love-potions  imbibed 
from  a  ruby  lip ; — but,  were  you  ever  really  and  bona  fide 
bewitched,  in  the  true  Matthew  Hopkins  sense  of  the  word  ? 
Did  you  ever,  for  instance,  find  yourself  from  head  to  heel  one 
vast  complication  of  cramps  ? — or  burst  out  into  sudorific  exu- 
dation like  a  cold  thaw,  with  the  thermometer  at  zero  ?  Were 
your  eyes  ever  turned  upside  down,  exhibiting  nothing  but 
their  whites  ?  Did  you  ever  vomit  a  paper  of  crooked  pins  ? 
or  expectorate  Whitechapel  needles  ?  These  are  genuine  and 
undoubted  marks  of  possession ;  and  if  you  never  experienced 
any  of  them, — why,  "  happy  man  be  his  dole !" 

Yet  such  things  have  been :  yea,  we  are  assured,  and  that  on 
no  mean  authority,  still  are. 

The  World,  according  to  the  best  geographers,  is  divided  into 
Euroi:)e,  Asia,  Africa,  America,  and  Romney  Marsh.  In  this 
last-named  and  fifth  quarter  of  the  globe,  a  witch  may  still  be 
occasionally  discovered  in  favorable,  i.  e.,  stormy,  seasons, 
weathering  Dungeness  Point  in  an  eggshell,  or  careering  on  her 
broomstick  over  Dymchurch  wall.  A  cow  may  yet  be  some- 
times seen  galloping  like  mad,  with  tail  erect,  ^nd  an  old  pair 
of  breeches  on  her  horns,  an  unerring  guide  to  the  door  of  the 
crone  whose  magic  arts  have  drained  her  udder.  I  do  not, 
however,  remember  to  have  heard  that  any  Conjurer  has  of 
late  been  detected  in  the  district. 

Not  many  miles  removed  from  the  verge  of  this  recondite 
region  stands  a  collection  of  houses,  which  its  maligners  call  a 
fishing-town,  and  its  well-wishers  a  Watering-place.  A  limb  of 
one  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  it  has  (or  lately  had)  a  corporation  of 
its  own,  and  has  been  thought  considerable  enough  to  give  a 
second  title  to  a  noble  family.     Rome  stood  on  seven  hills; 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  95 

Folkestone  seems  to  have  been  built  upon  seventy.  Its  streets, 
lanes,  and  alleys, — fanciful  distinctions  without  much  real  dif- 
ference,— are  agreeable  enough  to  persons  who  do  not  mind  run- 
ning up  and  down  stairs;  and  the  only  inconvenience  at  all 
felt  by  such  of  its  inhabitants  as  are  not  asthmatic,  is  when 
some  heedless  urchin  tumbles  down  a  chimney,  or  an  imperti- 
nent pedestrian  peeps  into  a  garret  window. 

At  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  town,  on  the  sea-beach,  and 
scarcely  above  high-w'ater  mark,  stood,  in  the  good  old  times,  a 
row  of  houses  then  denominated  "  Frog-hole."  Modern  refine- 
ment subsequently  euphonized  the  name  into  "East  Street;" 
but  "what's  in  a  name?"  the  encroachments  of  Ocean  have 
long  since  levelled  all  in  one  common  ruin. 

Here,  in  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  flourished 
in  somewhat  doubtful  reputation,  but  comparative  opulence,  a 
compounder  of  medicines,  one  Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne, — 
the  effluvia  of  whose  drugs  from  within,  mingling  agi*eeably 
with  the  "  ancient  and  fish-like  smells"  from  without,  wafted  a 
delicious  perfume  throughout  the  neighborhood. 

At  seven  of  the  clock  on  the  morning  when  Mrs.  Botherby's 
narrative  commences,  a  stout  Suffolk  "  punch,"  about  thirteen 
hands  and  a  half  in  height,  was  slowly  led  up  and  down  before 
the  door  of  the  pharmacopolist  by  a  lean  and  withered  lad, 
whose  appearance  warranted  an  opinion,  pretty  generally  ex- 
pressed, that  his  master  found  him  as  useful  in  experimental- 
izing as  in  household  drudgery ;  and  that,  for  every  pound 
avoirdupois  of  solid  meat,  he  swallowed  at  the  least  two  pounds 
troy  weight  of  chemicals  and  galenicals.  As  the  town  clock 
struck  the  quarter,  Master  Buckthorne  emerged  from  his  lab- 
oratory, and,  putting  the  key  carefully  into  his  pocket,  mounted 
the  sure-footed  cob  aforesaid,  and  proceeded  up  and  down  the 
acclivities  and  declivities  of  the  town  with  the  gravity  due  to 
his  station  and  profession.  When  he  reached  the  open  country 
his  pace  was  increased  to  a  sedate  canter,  which,  in  somewhat 
more  than  half  an  hour,  brought  "the  horse  and  his  rider"  in 
front  of  a  handsome  and  substantial  mansion,  the  numerous 
gable  ends  and  bayed  windows  of  which  bespoke  the  owner  a 
man  of  worship,  and  one  well  to  do  in  the  Avorld. 

"How  now,  Hodge  Gardener?"  quoth  the  Leech,  scarcely 


96  MRS.  BOTEERBY'S  STORY. 

drawing  bit ;  for  Punch  seemed  to  be  aware  that  he  had  reached 
his  destination,  and  paused  of  his  own  accord.  "  How  now, 
man?  How  fares  thine  employer,  worthy  Master  Marsh? 
How  hath  he  done?  How  hath  he  slept?  My  potion  hath 
done  its  office?     Ha!" 

"  Alack !  ill  at  ease,  worthy  sir,  ill  at  ease,"  returned  the 
hind.  "His  honor  is  up  and  stirring;  but  he  hath  rested 
none,  and  complaineth  that  the  same  gnawing  pain  devoureth, 
as  it  were,  his  very  vitals.     In  sooth  he  is  ill  at  ease." 

"Morrow,  doctor!"  interrupted  a  voice  from  a  casement 
opening  on  the  lawn.  "  Good  morrow !  I  have  looked  for, 
longed  for,  thy  coming  this  hour  and  more.  Enter  at  once: 
the  pastry  and  tankard  are  impatient  for  thine  attack." 

"Marry,  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  balk  their  fancy!" 
quoth  the  Leech  sotto  voce,  as,  abandoning  the  bridle  to  honest 
Hodge,  he  dismounted  and  followed  a  buxom-looking  hand- 
maiden into  the  breakfast  parlor. 

There,  at  the  head  of  his  well-fiirnished  board,  sat  Master 
Thomas  Marsh,  of  Marston  Hall,  a  yeoman  well  respected  in 
his  degree :  one  of  that  sturdy  and  sterling  class  which,  taking 
rank  immediately  below  the  Esquire  (a  title  in  its  origin  purely 
military),  occupied,  in  the  wealthier  counties,  the  position  in 
society  now  filled  by  the  Country  Gentleman.  He  was  one  of 
those  of  whom  the  proverb  ran : — 

"A  Knight  of  Cales, 
A  Gentleman  of  "Wales, 

And  a  Laird  of  the  North  Countree, — 
A  Yeoman  of  Kent, 
With  his  yearly  rent. 

Will  buy  them  out  all  three !" 

A  cold  sirloin,  big  enough  to  frighten  a  Frenchman,  filled 
the  place  of  honor,  counterchecked  by  a  game-pie  of  no  stinted 
dimensions ;  while  a  silver  flagon  of  "  humming-bub" — viz.,  ale 
strong  enough  to  blow  a  man's  beaver  off — smiled  opposite  in 
treacherous  amenity.  The  sideboard  groaned  beneath  sundry 
massive  cups  and  waiters  of  the  purest  silver ;  while  the  huge 
skull  of  a  fallow-deer,  with  its  branching  horns,  frowned  majes- 
tically above.  All  spoke  of  afiluence,  of  comfort ;  all  save  the 
master,  whose  restless  eye  and  feverish  look  hinted  but  too 


THE  LEECH   OF  FOLKESTONE.  97 

plainly  the  severest  mental  or  bodily  disorder.  By  the  side  of 
the  proprietor  of  the  mansion  sat  his  consort,  a  lady  now  past 
the  bloom  of  youth,  yet  still  retaining  many  of  its  charms. 
The  clear  olive  of  her  complexion,  and  "  the  darkness  of  her 
Andalusian  eye,"  at  once  betrayed  her  foreign  origin ;  in  fact, 
her  "  lord  and  master,"  as  husbands  were  even  then,  by  a  legal 
fiction,  denominated,  had  taken  her  to  his  bosom  in  a  foreign 
country.  The  cadet  of  his  family,  Master  Thomas  Marsh  had 
early  in  life  been  engaged  in  commerce.  In  the  pursuit  of  his 
vocation  he  had  visited  Antwerp,  Hamburg,  and  most  of  the 
Hanse  Towns;  and  had  already  formed  a  tender  connection 
with  the  orphan  offspring  of  one  of  old  Alva's  officers,  when 
the  unexpected  deaths  of  one  immediate  and  two  presumptive 
heirs  placed  him  next  in  succession  to  the  family  acres.  He 
married,  and  brought  home  his  bride :  who,  by  the  decease  of 
the  venerable  possessor,  heart-broken  at  the  loss  of  his  elder 
children,  became  eventually  lady  of  Marston  Hall.  It  has 
been  said  that  she  was  beautiful,  yet  was  her  beauty  of  a  char- 
acter that  operates  on  the  fancy  more  than  the  affections ;  she 
was  one  to  be  admired  rather  than  loved.  The  proud  curl  of 
her  lip,  the  firmness  of  her  tread,  her  arched  brow  and  stately 
carriage,  showed  the  decision,  not  to  say  haughtiness,  of  her 
soul ;  while  her  glances,  whether  lightening  with  anger  or  melt- 
ing in  extreme  softness,  betrayed  the  existence  of  passions  as 
intense  in  kind  as  opposite  in  quality.  She  rose  as  Erasmus 
entered  the  parlor,  and,  bestowing  on  him  a  look  fraught  with 
meaning,  quitted  the  room,  leaving  him  in  unrestrained  com- 
munication with  his  patient. 

"  'Fore  George,  Master  Buckthorne !"  exclaimed  the  latter, 
as  the  Leech  drew  near,  "  I  will  no  more  of  your  pharmacy ; — 
burn,  burn,  gnaw,  gnaw, — I  had  as  lief  the  foul  fiend  were  in 
my  gizzard  as  one  of  your  drugs.  Tell  me,  in  the  devil's  name, 
what  is  the  matter  with  me !" 

Thus  conjured,  the  practitioner  paused,  and  even  turned  some- 
what pale.  There  was  a  perceptible  faltering  in  his  voice  as, 
evading  the  question,  he  asked,  "  What  say  your  other  physi- 
cians ?" 

"  Doctor  Phiz  says  it  is  wind, — Doctor  Fuz  says  it  is  water, — 
and  Doctor  Buz  says  it  is  something  between  wind  and  water." 
7 


98  MRS.    BOTIIERBY'S   STORY. 

"  They  are  nil  of  them  wroug,"  said  Erasmus  Bnckthorne. 

"  Truly,  I  think  so,"  returned  the  patient.  "  They  are  mani- 
fest asses ;  but  you,  good  Leech,  you  are  a  horse  of  another 
color.  The  world  talks  loudly  of  your  learning,  your  skill,  and 
cunning  in  arts  the  most  abstruse  ;  nay,  sooth  to  say,  some  look 
coldly  on  you  therefor,  and  stickle  not  to  aver  that  you  are 
cater-cousin  with  Beelzebub  himself." 

"  It  is  ever  the  fate  of  science,"  murmured  the  professor,  "  to 
be  maligned  by  the  ignorant  and  superstitious.  But  a  truce 
with  such  folly ; — let  me  examine  your  palate," 

Master  Marsh  thrust  out  a  tongue  long,  clear,  and  red  as  a 
beet-root.  "  There  is  nothing  Avrong  there,"  said  the  Leech. 
"  Your  wrist : — no ; — the  pulse  is  firm  and  regular,  the  skin 
cool  and  temperate.    Sir,  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you." 

"  Nothing  the  matter  with  me.  Sir  'Potecary  ? — But  I  tell  you 
there  is  the  matter  with  me, — much  the  matter  with  me.  Why 
is  it  that  something  seems  ever  gnawing  at  my  heart-strings  ? — 
Whence  this  pain  in  the  region  of  the  liver  ? — Why  is  it  that  I 
sleep  not  o'  nights, — rest  not  o'  days  ?     Why " 

"  You  are  fidgety.  Master  Marsh,"  said  the  doctor. 

Master  Marsh's  brow  grew  dark :  he  half  rose  from  his  seat, 
supported  himself  by  both  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  elbow  chair, 
and,  in  accents  of  mingled  anger  and  astonishment,  rejoeated 
the  word  "  Fidgety  !" 

"  Ay,  fidgety,"  returned  the  doctor,  calmly,  "  Tut,  man,  there 
is  nought  ails  thee  save  thine  own  overweening  fancies.  Take 
less  of  food,  more  air,  put  aside  thy  flagon,  call  for  thy  horse ; 
be  boot  and  saddle  the  word  !     Why,  hast  thou  not  youth  ?" 

"  I  have,"  said  the  patient.  , 

"  Wealth  and  a  fair  domain  ?" 

"  Granted,"  quoth  Marsh,  cheerily, 

"And  a  fair  wife?" 

"  Yea,"  was  the  response,  but  in  a  tone  something  less  satis- 
fied. 

"  Then  arouse  thee,  man,  shake  off*  this  fantasy,  betake  thyself 
to  thy  lawful  occasions — use  thy  good  hap, — follow  thy  pleas- 
ures, and  think  no  more  of  these  fancied  ailments," 

"  But  I  tell  you,  master  mine,  these  ailments  are  not  fancied. 
I  lose  my  rest,  I  loathe  my  food,  my  doublet  sits  loosely  on 


THE  LEECH   OF  FOLKESTONE.  99 

me, — these  racking  paius.  My  -vvifc,  too,  when  I  meet  her  gaze, 
the  cold  sweat  stands  on  my  forehead,  and  I  could  almost 

think "      Marsh  paused  abruptly,   mused  a  Avhilc,   then 

added,  looking  steadily  at  his  visitor,  "These  things  are  not 
right ;  they  pass  the  common.  Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne." 

A  slight  shade  crossed  the  brow  of  the  Leech,  but  its  passage 
was  momentary ;  his  features  softened  to  a  smile,  in  which  pity 
seemed  slightly  blended  with  contempt.  "Have  done  with  such 
follies.  Master  Marsh !  You  are  well,  an  you  would  but  think 
so.  Eide,  I  say,  hunt,  shoot,  do  anything, — disperse  these  mel- 
ancholic humors,  and  become  yourself  again." 

"  "Well,  I  will  do  your  bidding,"  said  Marsh,  thoughtfully. 
"  It  may  be  so ;  and  yet, — but  I  will  do  your  bidding.  Master 
Cobb  of  Brenzet  writes  me  that  he  hath  a  score  or  two  of  fat 
ewes  to  be  sold  a  pennyworth ;  I  had  thought  to  have  sent  Ealph 
Looker,  but  I  will  essay  to  go  myself  Ho,  there ! — saddle  me 
the  brown  mare,  and  bid  Ralph  be  ready  to  attend  me  on  the 
gelding." 

An  expression  of  pain  contracted  the  features  of  Master 
Marsh  as  he  rose  and  slowly  quitted  the  apartment  to  prepare 
for  his  journey  ;  while  the  Leech,  having  bidden  him  farewell, 
vanished  through  an  opposite  door,  and  betook  himself  to  the 
private  boudoir  of  the  fair  mistress  of  Marston,  muttering  as 
he  went  a  quotation  fi-om  a  then  newly-published  play, — 

"  Not  pojapy,  nor  mandragora, 
Noi'  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  ownedst  yesterday." 
»  -;■:■  «  »  ®  «  » 

Of  what  passed  at  this  interview  between  the  Folkestone 
doctor  and  the  fair  Spaniard,  Mrs.  Botherby  declares  she  could 
never  obtain  any  satisfactory  elucidation.  Not  that  tradition  is 
silent  on  the  subject, — quite  the  contrary ;  it  is  the  abundance, 
not  paucity,  of  the  materials  she  supplies,  and  the  consequent 
embarrassment  of  selection,  that  makes  the  diflPiculty.  Some 
have  averred  that  the  Leech,  whose  character,  as  has  been  before 
hinted,  was  more  than  threadbare,  employed  his  time  in  teach- 
ing her  the  mode  of  administering  certain  noxious  compounds, 
the  unconscious  partaker  whereof  would  pine  and  die  so  slowly 


100  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

and  gradually  as  to  defy  suspicion.  Others  there  were  who 
affirmed  that  Lucifer  himself  was  then  and  there  raised  in  pro- 
2>rid  persona,  with  all  his  terrible  attributes  of  horn  and  hoof. 
In  support  of  this  assertion,  they  adduce  the  testimony  of  the 
aforesaid  buxom  housemaid,  who  protested  that  the  Hall  smelt 
that  evening  like  a  manufactory  of  matches.  All,  however, 
seemed  to  agree  that  the  confabulation,  whether  human  or  in- 
fernal, was  conducted  with  profound  secrecy,  and  protracted  to 
a  considerable  length  ;  that  its  object,  as  far  as  could  be  divined, 
meant  anything  but  good  to  the  head  of  the  family ;  that  the 
lady,  moreover,  was  heartily  tired  of  her  husband ;  and  that, 
in  the  event  of  his  removal  by  disease  or  casualty,  Master  Eras- 
mus Buckthorne,  albeit  a  great  philosophist,  would  have  no 
violent  objection  to  "  throw  physic  to  the  dogs,"  and  exchange 
his  laboratory  for  the  estate  of  Marston,  its  live  stock  included. 
Some,  too,  have  inferred  that  to  him  did  Madame  Isabel  seriously 
incline ;  Avhile  others  have  thought,  induced  perhaps  by  subse- 
quent events,  that  she  was  merely  using  him  for  her  purposes ; 
that  one  Jose,  a  tall,  bright-eyed,  hook-nosed  stripling  from 
her  native  land,  was  a  personage  not  unlikely  to  put  a  spoke  in 
the  doctor's  wheel ;  and  that,  should  such  a  chance  arise,  the 
Sage,  wise  as  he  was,  would,  after  all,  run  no  slight  risk  of 
being  "  bamboozled." 

Master  Jose  was  a  youth  well-favored  and  comely  to  look 
upon.  His  office  was  that  of  page  to  the  dame ;  an  office  which, 
after  long  remaining  in  abeyance,  has  been  of  late  years  revived, 
as  may  well  be  seen  in  the  persons  of  sundry  smart  hobblede- 
hoys, now  constantly  to  be  met  with  on  staircases  and  in  bou- 
doirs, clad,  for  the  most  part,  in  garments  fitted  tightly  to  the 
shape,  the  lower  moiety  adorned  with  a  broad  stripe  of  crimson 
or  silver  lace,  and  the  upper  with  what  the  first  Wit  of  our 
times  has  described  as  "  a  favorable  eruption  of  buttons."  The 
precise  duties  of  this  employment  have  never,  as  far  as  we  have 
heard,  been  accurately  defined.  The  perfuming  a  haudkerchief, 
the  combing  a  lap-dog,  and  the  occasional  presentation  of  a 
sippet-shaped  billet  doux,  are,  and  always  have  been,  among 
them  ;  but  these  a  young  gentleman  standing  five  foot  ten,  and 
aged  nineteen  "  last  grass,"  might  well  be  supposed  to  have  out- 
grown.    Jose,  however,  kept  his  place,  perhaps  becaut^e  he  was 


TEE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTOm^.  .  101 

not  fit  for  any  other.  To  the  conhvevce  between 'his  mi&treea  - 
and  the  physician  he  had  not  been,  admitted;  his.postAvas  to- 
keep  watch  and  ward  in  the  ante-room ;  and,  when  the  inter- 
view was  concluded,  he  attended  the  lady  and  her  visitor  as  far 
as  the  courtyard,  where  he  held,  with  all  due  respect,  the  stirrup 
for  the  latter,  as  he  once  more  resumed  his  position  on  the  back 
of  Punch. 

Who  is  it  that  says,  "  little  pitchers  have  large  ears  "  ?  Some 
deep  metaphj^sician  of  the  potteries,  who  might  have  added  that 
they  have  also  quick  eyes,  and  sometimes  silent  tongues.  There 
was  a  little  metaphorical  piece  of  crockery  of  this  class,  who, 
screened  by  a  huge  elbow-chair,  had  sat  a  quiet  and  unobserved 
spectator  of  the  whole  proceedings  between  her  mamma  and 
Master  Erasmus  Buckthorue.  This  was  Miss  Marian  IMarsh, 
a  rosy-cheeked,  laughter-loving  imp  of  some  six  years  old,  but 
one  who  could  be  mute  as  a  mouse  when  the  fit  was  on  her.  A 
handsome  and  highly-polished  cabinet,  of  the  darkest  ebony, 
occupied  a  recess  at  one  end  of  the  apartment ;  this  had  long 
been  a  great  subject  of  speculation  to  little  Miss.  Her  curiosity, 
however,  had  always  been  repelled;  nor  had  all  her  coaxing 
even  won  her  an  inspection  of  the  thousand  and  one  pretty 
things  which  its  recesses  no  doubt  contained.  On  this  occasion 
it  was  unlocked,  and  Marian  was  about  to  rush  forward  in  eager 
anticipation  of  a  peep  at  its  interior,  when,  child  as  she  was, 
the  reflection  struck  her  that  she  would  stand  a  better  chance 
of  carrying  her  point  by  remaining  perchie.  Fortune  for  once 
favored  her:  she  crouched  closer  than  before,  and  saw  her 
mother  take  something  from  one  of  the  drawers,  which  she 
handed  over  to  the  Leech.  Strange  mutterings  followed,  and 
words  whose  sound  was  foreign  to  her  youthful  ears.  Had  she 
been  older,  their  import,  perhaps,  might  have  been  equally  un- 
known. After  a  while  there  was  a  pause ;  and  then  the  lady, 
as  in  answer  to  a  requisition  from  the  gentleman,  placed  in  his 
hand  a  something  which  she  took  from  her  toilet.  The  trans- 
action, whatever  its  nature,  seemed  now  to  be  complete,  and  the 
article  was  carefully  replaced  in  the  drawer  from  which  it  had 
been  taken.  A  long  and  apparently  interesting  conversation 
then  took  place  between  the  parties,  carried  on  in  a  low  tone. 
At  its  termination,  Mistress  Marsh  and  Master  Erasmus  Buck- 


102  "  M^S.  BOTIIERBY'S  STORY. 

tliorBe 'quitted*  ;tlte  boudojr.  together.  But  the  cabinet! — ay, 
'tliaJi"/vas;Mt.'uii:iai3ten^d<;Uhe  folding  doors  still  remained  invit- 
ingly expanded,  the  bunch  of  keys  dangling  from  the  lock.  In 
an  instant  the  spoiled  child  was  in  a  chair ;  the  drawer  so  re- 
cently closed  yielded  at  once  to  her  hand,  and  her  hurried 
researches  were  rewarded  by  the  prettiest  little  waxen  doll 
imaginable.  It  was  a  first-rate  prize,  and  Miss  lost  no  time  in 
appropriating  it  to  herself.  Long  before  Madame  Marsh  had 
returned  to  her  Sanctum  Marian  was  seated  under  a  laurustiuus 
in  the  garden,  nursing  her  new  baby  with  the  most  affectionate 
solicitude. 

"  Susan,  look  here ;  see  what  a  nasty  scratch  I  have  got  upon 
my  hand,"  said  the  young  lady,  when  routed  at  length  from 
her  hiding-place  to  her  noontide  meal. 

"  Yes,  Miss,  this  is  always  the  way  with  you !  mend,  mend, 
mend, — nothing  but  mend  !  Scrambling  about  among  the 
bushes,  and  tearing  your  clothes  to  rags.  What  with  you,  and 
with  madam's  farthingales  and  kirtles,  a  poor  bower-maiden 
has  a  fine  time  of  it !" 

"  But  I  have  not  torn  my  clothes,  Susan,  and  it  was  not  the 
bushes ;  it  was  the  doll :  only  see  what  a  great  ugly  pin  I  have 
pulled  out  of  it !  and  look,  here  is  another !"  As  she  spoke, 
Marian  drew  forth  one  of  those  extended  pieces  of  black  pointed 
wire  with  which,  in  the  days  of  toupees  and  pompoons,  our  fore- 
mothers  were  wont  to  secure  their  fly  caps  and  head-gear  from 
the  impertinent  assaults  of  "  Zephyrus  and  the  Little  Breezes." 

"  And  pray,  Miss,  where  did  you  get  this  pretty  doll,  as  you 
call  it  ?"  asked  Susan,  turning  over  the  puppet,  and  viewing  it 
with  a  scrutinizing  eye. 

"  Mamma  gave  it  me,"  said  the  child. — This  was  a  fib. 

"  Indeed  !"  quoth  the  girl  thoughtfully ;  and  then,  in  a  half 
soliloquy,  and  a  lower  key,  "  Well !  I  wish  I  may  die  if  it 
doesn't  look  like  master !  But  come  to  your  dinner,  Miss ! 
Hark !  the  hell  is  striking  One  !" 

Meanwhile  Master  Thomas  Marsh  and  his  man  Ralph  were 
threading  the  devious  paths,  then,  as  now,  most  pseudonymously 
dignified  with  the  name  of  roads,  that  wound  between  Marston 
Hall  and  the  frontier  of  Romney  Marsh.     Their  progress  was 


THE  LEECH   OF  FOLKESTONE.  103 

comparatively  slow  ;  for  though  the  brown  mare  was  as  good  a 
roadster  as  man  might  back,  and  the  gelding  no  mean  nag  of 
his  hands,  yet  the  tracts,  rarely  traversed  save  by  the  rude 
wains  of  the  day,  miry  in  the  "  bottoms,"  and  covered  with 
loose  and  rolling  stones  on  the  higher  grounds,  rendered  barely 
passable  the  perpetual  alternation  of  hill  and  valley. 

The  master  rode  on  in  pain,  and  the  man  in  listlessness ; 
although  the  intercourse  between  two  individuals  so  situated 
was  much  less  restrained  in  those  days  than  might  suit  the  re- 
finement of  a  later  age,  little  passed  approximating  to  conver- 
sation beyond  an  occasional  and  half-stifled  groan  from  the 
one,  or  a  vacant  whistle  from  the  other.  An  hour's  riding  had 
brought  them  among  the  woods  of  Acryso;  .and  they  were 
about  to  descend  one  of  those  green  and  leafy  lanes,  rendered 
by  matted  and  overarching  branches  alike  impervious  to  shower 
or  sunbeam,  when  a  sudden  and  violent  spasm  seized  on  Master 
Marsh,  and  nearly  caused  him  to  fall  from  his  horse.  With 
some  difiiculty  he  succeeded  in  dismounting  and  seating  him- 
self by  the  roadside.  Here  he  remained  for  a  full  half-hour 
in  great  apparent  agony;  the  cold  sweat  rolled  in  large  round 
drops  adown  his  clammy  forehead,  a  universal  shivering  palsied 
every  limb,  his  eyeballs  appeared  to  be  starting  from  their 
sockets,  and  to  his  attached  though  dull  and  heavy  serving- 
man  he  seemed  as  one  struggling  in  the  pangs  of  impending 
dissolution.  His  groans  rose  thick  and  frequent ;  and  the 
alarmed  Ralph  was  hesitating  between  his  disinclination  to 
leave  him  and  his  desire  to  procure  such  assistance  as  one  of 
the  few  cottages,  rarely  sprinkled  in  that  wild  country,  might 
afibrd,  when,  after  a  long-drawn  sigh,  his  master's  features  as 
suddenly  relaxed ;  he  declared  himself  better,  the  pang  had 
passed  away,  and,  to  use  his  own  expression,  he  "  felt  as  if  a 
knife  had  been  drawn  from  out  his  very  heart."  With  Ralph's 
assistance,  after  a  while  he  again  reached  his  saddle;  and 
though  still  ill  at  ease,  from  a  deep-seated  and  gnawing  pain, 
which  ceased  not,  as  he  averred,  to  torment  him,  the  violence 
of  the  paroxysm  was  sj)ent,  and  it  returned  no  more. 

Master  and  man  pursued  their  way  with  increased  speed  as, 
emerging  from  the  wooded  defiles,  they  at  length  neared  the 
coast ;  then,  leaving  the  romantic  castle  of  Saltwood,  with  its 


104  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

neighboring  town  of  Hithe,  a  little  on  their  left,  they  proceeded 
along  the  ancient  paved  causeway,  and,  crossing  the  old  Roman 
road,  or  Watling,  plunged  again  into  the  woods  that  stretched 
between  Lympue  and  Ostenhauger. 

The  sun  rode  high  in  the  heavens,  and  its  meridian  blaze  was 
powerfully  felt  by  man  and  horse,  when,  again  quitting  their 
leafy  covert,  the  travellers  debouched  on  the  open  plain  of  Al- 
dington Frith,  a  wide  tract  of  unenclosed  country  stretching 
down  to  the  very  borders  of  "  the  Marsh  "  itself. 

Here  it  was,  in  the  neighboring  chapelry,  the  site  of  which 
may  yet  be  traced  by  the  curious  antiquary,  that  Elizabeth 
Barton,  the  "  Holy  Maid  of  Kent,"  had,  something  less  than  a 
hundred  years  previous  to  the  period  of  our  narrative,  com- 
menced that  series  of  supernatural  pranks  which  eventually 
procured  for  her  head  an  unenvied  elevation  upon  London 
Bridge ;  and  though  the  parish  had  since  enjoyed  the  benefit 
of  the  incumbency  of  Master  Erasmus's  illustrious  and  enlight- 
ened Namesake,  still,  truth  to  tell,  some  of  the  old  leaven  was 
even  yet  supposed  to  be  at  work.  The  place  had,  in  fact,  an  ill 
name ;  and,  though  Popish  miracles  had  ceased  to  electrify  its 
denizens,  spells  and  charms,  operating  by  a  no  less  wondrous 
agency,  were  said  to  have  taken  their  place.  Warlocks  and 
other  unholy  subjects  of  Satan  were  reported  to  make  its  wild 
recesses  their  favorite  rendezvous,  and  that  to  an  extent  which 
eventually  attracted  the  notice  of  no  less  a  person  than  the 
sagacious  Matthew  Hopkins  himself,  Witchfiuder-General  to 
the  British  Government. 

A  great  portion  of  the  Frith,  or  Fright,  as  the  name  was 
then,  and  is  still,  pronounced,  had  formerly  been  a  Chase,  with 
rights  of  Free-warren,  etc.,  appertaining  to  the  Archbishoj^s  of 
the  Province.  Since  the  Reformation,  however,  it  had  been 
disparked ;  and  when  Master  Thomas  Marsh  and  his  man 
Ralph  entered  upon  its  confines,  the  open  greensward  exhibited 
a  lively  scene,  suflficiently  explanatory  of  certain  sounds  that 
had  already  reached  their  cars  while  yet  within  the  sylvan 
screen  that  concealed  their  origin. 

It  was  Fair-day;  booths,  stalls,  and  all  the  rude  parapher- 
nalia of  an  assembly  that  then  met  as  much  for  the  purposes 
of  traflfic  as  festivity,  were  scattered  irregularly  over  the  turf; 


THE  LEECH    OF  FOLKESTONE.  105 

peddlers  with  their  packs,  horse-croiipers,  pig-merchants,  itin- 
erant vendors  of  crockery  and  cutlery,  wandered  promiscuously 
among  the  mingled  groups,  exposing  their  several  wares  and 
commodities,  and  soliciting  custom.  On  one  side  was  the  gaudy 
ribbon,  making  its  mute  appeal  to  rustic  gallantry ;  on  the 
other  the  delicious  brandy-ball  and  alluring  lollipop,  com- 
pounded after  the  most  approved  receipt  in  the  "  True  Gentle- 
woman's Garland,"  and  "raising  the  waters"  in  the  mouth  of 
many  an  expectant  urchin. 

Nor  were  rural  sports  wanting  to  those  whom  pleasure,  rather 
than  business,  had  drawn  from  their  humble  homes.  Here  was 
the  tall  and  slippery  pole,  glittering  in  its  grease,  and  crowned 
with  the  ample  cheese  that  mocked  the  hopes  of  the  discomfited 
climber.  There  the  fugitive  pippin,  swimming  in  water  not  of 
the  purest,  and  bobbing  from  the  expanded  lips  of  the  juvenile 
Tantalus.  In  this  quarter  the  ear  was  pierced  by  squeaks  from 
some  beleaguered  porker,  whisking  his  well-soaped  tail  from  the 
grasp  of  one  already  in  fancy  his  captor.  In  that  the  eye  rest- 
ed, with  undisguised  delight,  upon  the  grimaces  of  grinning 
candidates  for  the  honors  of  the  horse-collar.  All  was  fun, 
frolic,  courtship,  junketing,  and  jollity. 

Maid  Marian,  indeed,  with  her  lieges,  Robin  Hood,  Scarlet, 
and  Little  John,  was  wanting ;  Friar  Tuck  was  absent ;  even 
the  Hobby-horse  had  disappeared :  but  the  agile  Morris-dancers 
yet  were  there,  and  jingled  their  bells  merrily  among  stalls  well 
stored  with  gingerbread,  tops,  whips,  whistles,  and  all  those 
noisy  instruments  of  domestic  torture  in  which  scenes  like  these 
are  even  now  so  fertile.  Had  I  a  foe  whom  I  held  at  deadliest 
feud,  I  would  entice  his  favorite  child  to  a  Fair,  and  buy  him 
a  Whistle  and  a  Penny-trumpet. 

In  one  corner  of  the  green,  a  little  apart  from  the  thickest  of 
the  throng,  stood  a  small  square  stage,  nearly  level  with  the 
chins  of  the  spectators,  whose  repeated  bursts  of  laughter  seemed 
to  intimate  the  presence  of  something  more  than  usually  amus- 
ing. The  platform  was  divided  into  two  unequal  portions ;  the 
smaller  of  which,  surrounded  by  curtains  of  a  coarse  canvas, 
veiled  from  the  eyes  of  the  profane  the  penetralia  of  this 
movable  temple  of  Esculapius,  for  such  it  was.  Within  its 
interior,  and  secure  from  vulgar  curiosity,  the  Quack-salver 


106  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

had  hitherto  kept  himself  ensconced ;  occupied,  no  doubt,  in 
the  preparation  and  arrangement  of  that  wonderful  panacea 
which  was  hereafter  to  shed  the  blessings  of  health  among  the 
admiring  crowd.  Meanwhile  his  attendant  Jack-pudding  was 
busily  employed  on  the  proscenium,  doing  his  best  to  attract 
attention  by  a  practical  facetiousuess  which  took  wonderfully 
with  the  spectators,  interspersing  it  with  the  melodious  notes  of 
a  huge  cow's  horn.  The  fellow's  costume  varied  but  little  in 
character  from  that  in  which  the  late  (alas !  that  we  should 
have  to  write  the  word — late !)  Mr.  Joseph  Grimaldi  was  ac- 
customed to  present  himself  before  "  a  generous  and  enlightened 
public ;"  the  principal  difference  consisted  in  this,  that  the  upper 
garment  was  a  long  white  tunic,  of  a  coarse  linen,  surmounted 
by  a  caricature  of  the  ruff  then  fast  falling  into  disuse,  and  was 
secured  from  the  throat  downwards  by  a  single  row  of  broad 
white  metal  buttons;  and  his  legs  were  cased  in  loose  wide 
trousers  of  the  same  material ;  while  his  sleeves,  prolonged  to  a 
most  disproportionate  extent,  descended  far  below  the  fingers, 
and  acted  as  flappers  in  the  somersets  and  caracoles  with  which 
he  diversified  and  enlivened  his  antics.  Consummate  impu- 
dence, not  altogether  unmixed  with  a  certain  sly  humor,  spar- 
kled in  his  eye  through  the  chalk  and  ochre  with  which  his 
features  were  plentifully  bedaubed  ;  and  especially  disjilayed 
itself  in  a  succession  of  jokes,  the  coarseness  of  which  did  not 
seem  to  detract  from  their  merit  in  the  eyes  of  his  applauding 
audience. 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  a  long  and  animated  harangue  ex- 
planatory of  his  master's  high  pretensions ;  he  had  informed 
his  gaping  auditors  that  the  latter  was  the  seventh  son  of  a 
seventh  son,  and  of  course,  as  they  very  well  knew,  an  Unborn 
Doctor;  that  to  this  happy  accident  of  birth  he  added  the 
advantage  of  most  extensive  travel ;  that  in  his  search  after 
science  he  had  not  only  perambulated  the  whole  of  this  world, 
but  had  trespassed  on  the  boundaries  of  the  next ;  that  the 
depths  of  the  Ocean  and  the  bowels  of  the  Earth  were  alike 
familiar  to  him ;  that  besides  salves  and  cataplasms  of  sovereign 
virtue,  by  combining  sundry  mosses,  gathered  many  thousand 
fathoms  below  the  surface  of  the  sea,  with  certain  unknown 
drugs  found  in  an  undiscovered  island,  and  boiling  the  whole 


THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE.  107 

in  the  lava  of  Vesuvius,  Le  bad  succeeded  iu  producing  his 
celebrated  balsam  of  Crackapanoko,  the  never-failing  remedy 
for  all  human  disorders,  and  which,  a  proper  trial  allowed, 
would  go  near  to  reanimate  the  dead.  "  Draw  near !"  continued 
the  worthy,  "  draw  near,  my  masters !  and  you,  my  good  mis- 
tresses, draw  near,  every  one  of  you.  Fear  not  high  and  haughty 
carriage :  though  greater  than  King  or  Kaiser,  yet  is  the  mighty 
Aldrovando  milder  than  mother's  milk ;  flint  to  the  proud,  to 
the  humble  he  is  as  melting  wax ;  he  asks  not  your  disorders, 
he  sees  them  himself  at  a  glance — nay,  without  a  glance ;  he 
tells  your  ailments  with  his  eyes  shut ! — Draw  near !  draw  near ! 
the  more  incurable  the  better !  List  to  the  illustrious  Doctor 
Aldrovando,  first  physician  to  Prester  John,  Leech  to  the  Grand 
Llama,  and  Hakim  in  Ordinary  to  Mustapha  Muley  Bey!" 

"Hath  your  master  ever  a  charm  for  the  toothache,  an't 
please  you  ?"  asked  an  elderly  countryman,  whose  swollen  cheek 
bespoke  his  interest  in  the  question. 

"  A  charm ! — a  thousand,  and  every  one  of  them  infallible. 
Toothache,  quotha !  I  had  hoped  you  had  come  with  every 
bone  in  your  body  fractured  or  out  of  joint.  A  toothache ! — 
propound  a  tester,  master  o'  mine — we  ask  not  more  for  such 
trifles  :  do  my  bidding,  and  thy  jaws,  even  with  the  word,  shall 
cease  to  trouble  thee !" 

The  clown,  fumbling  a  while  in  a  deep  leathern  purse,  at 
length  produced  a  sixpence,  which  he  tendered  to  the  jester. 
"  Now  to  thy  master,  and  bring  me  the  charm  forthwith." 

"  Nay,  honest  man ;  to  disturb  the  mighty  Aldrovando  on 
such  slight  occasion  were  pity  of  my  life :  areed  my  counsel 
aright,  and  I  will  warrant  thee  for  the  nonce.  Hie  thee  home, 
friend ;  infuse  this  powder  in  cold  spring-water,  fill  thy  mouth 
with  the  mixture,  and  sit  upon  the  fire  till  it  boils !" 

"  Out  on  thee  for  a  pestilent  knave !"  cried  the  cozened  coun- 
tryman ;  but  the  roar  of  merriment  around  bespoke  the  by- 
standers well  pleased  with  the  jape  put  upon  him.  He  retired, 
venting  his  spleen  in  audible  murmurs ;  and  the  mountebank, 
finding  the  feelings  of  the  mob  enlisted  on  his  side,  waxed  moi-e 
impudent  every  instant,  filling  up  the  intervals  between  his 
fooleries  with  sundry  capers  and  contortions  and  discordant 
notes  from  the  cow's  horn. 


108  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

"  Draw  near,  draw  near,  my  masters !  Here  have  ye  a  rem- 
edy for  eveiy  evil  under  the  sun,  moral,  physical,  natural,  and 
supernatural !  Hath  any  man  a  termagant  wife  ? — here  is  that 
will  tame  her  presently !  Hath  any  one  a  smoky  chimney  ? — 
here  is  an  incontinent  cure !" 

To  the  first  infliction  no  man  ventured  to  plead  guilty,  though 
there  were  those  standing  by  who  thought  their  neighbors  might 
have  profited  withal.  For  the  last-named  recipe  started  forth 
at  least  half  a  dozen  candidates.  With  the  greatest  gravity 
imaginable,  Pierrot,  having  pocketed  their  groats,  delivered  to 
each  a  small  packet  curiously  folded  and  closely  sealed,  con- 
taining, as  he  averred,  directions  which,  if  truly  observed, 
would  preclude  any  chimney  from  smoking  for  a  whole  year. 
They  whose  curiosity  led  them  to  dive  into  the  mystery  found 
that  a  sprig  of  mountain  ash  culled  by  moonlight  was  the  charm 
recommended,  coupled,  however,  with  the  proviso  that  no  fire 
should  be  lighted  on  the  hearth  during  its  exercise. 

The  frequent  bursts  of  merriment  proceeding  from  this  quar- 
ter at  length  attracted  the  attention  of  Master  Marsh,  whose 
line  of  road  necessarily  brought  him  near  this  end  of  the  fair ; 
he  drew  bit  in  front  of  the  stage  just  as  its  noisy  occupant, 
having  laid  aside  his  formidable  horn,  was  drawing  still  more 
largely  on  the  amazement  of  "  the  public  "  by  a  feat  of  especial 
wonder, — he  was  eating  fire !  Curiosity  mingled  with  astonish- 
ment was  at  its  height ;  and  feelings  not  unallied  to  alarm  were 
beginning  to  manifest  themselves,  among  the  softer  sex  espe- 
cially, as  they  gazed  on  the  flames  that  issued  from  the  mouth 
of  the  living  volcano.  All  eyes,  indeed,  were  fixed  upon  the 
fire-eater  with  an  intentness  that  left  no  room  for  observing 
another  worthy  who  had  now  emerged  upon  the  scene.  This 
was,  however,  no  less  a  personage  than  the  Deiis  ex  machind, — 
the  illustrious  Aldrovando  himself. 

Short  in  stature  and  spare  in  form,  the  sage  had  somewhat 
increased  the  former  by  a  steeple-crowned  hat  adorned  with  a 
cock's  feather;  while  the  thick  shoulder-padding  of  a  quilted 
doublet,  surmounted  by  a  falling  baud,  added  a  little  to  his 
l>ersonal  importance  in  point  of  breadth.  His  habit  was  com- 
posed throughout  of  black  serge,  relieved  with  scarlet  slashes  in 
the  sleeves  and  trunks ;  red  was  the  feather  in  his  hat,  red  were 


THE  LEECn  OF  FOLKESTONE.  109 

the  roses  iu  his  shoes,  which  rejoiced,  moreover,  in  a  pair  of  red 
heels.  The  lining  of  a  short  cloak  of  faded  velvet,  that  hung 
transversely  over  his  left  shoulder,  was  also  red.  Indeed,  from 
all  that  we  could  ever  see  or  hear,  this  agreeable  alternation  of 
red  and  black  appears  to  be  the  mixture  of  colors  most  ajjproved 
at  the  court  of  Beelzebub,  and  the  one  most  generally  adopted 
by  his  friends  and  favorites.  His  features  were  sharp  and 
shrewd,  and  a  fire  sparkled  in  his  keen  gray  eye,  much  at 
variance  with  the  wrinkles  that  ran  their  irregular  furrows 
above  his  prominent  and  bushy  brows.  He  had  advanced 
slowly  from  behind  his  screen  while  the  attention  of  the  mul- 
titude was  observed  by  the  pyrotechnics  of  Mr.  Merryman,  and 
stationing  himself  at  the  extreme  corner  of  the  stage,  stood 
quietly  leaning  on  a  crutch-handle  walking-staff  of  blackest 
ebony,  his  glance  steadily  fixed  on  the  face  of  Marsh,  from 
whose  countenance  the  amusement  he  had  insensibly  begun  to 
derive  had  not  succeeded  in  removing  all  traces  of  bodily 
pain. 

For  a  while  the  latter  was  unobservant  of  the  inquisitorial 
survey  with  which  he  was  regarded ;  the  eyes  of  the  parties, 
however,  at  length  met.  The  brown  mare  had  a  fine  shoulder ; 
she  stood  pretty  nearly  sixteen  hands.  Marsh  himself,  though 
slightly  bowed  by  ill-health  and  the  "coming  autumn"  of  life, 
was  full  six  feet  in  height.  His  elevation  giving  him  an  un- 
obstructed view  over  the  heads  of  the  pedestrians,  he  had  nat- 
urally fallen  into  the  rear  of  the  assembly,  which  brought  him 
close  to  the  diminutive  Doctor,  with  whose  face,  despite  the  red 
heels,  his  own  was  about  upon  a  level. 

"  And  what  makes  Master  Marsh  here  ?  what  sees  he  in  the 
mummeries  of  a  miserable  buffoon  to  divert  him  when  his  life 
is  in  jeopardy  ?"  said  a  shrill  cracked  voice  that  sounded  as  in 
his  very  ear.     It  was  the  Doctor  who  spoke. 

"Knowest  thou  me,  friend?"  said  Marsh,  scanning  with 
awakened  interest  the  figure  of  his  questioner:  "I  call  thee 
not  to  mind ;  and  yet — stay,  where  have  we  met  ?" 

"  It  skills  not  to  declare,"  was  the  answer ;  "  sufiice  it  we  have 
met — in  other  climes  perchance — and  now  meet  happily  again — 
happily  at  least  for  thee." 

"Why,  truly  the  trick  of  thy  countenance  reminds  me  of 


110  3fES.   BOTffERBY'S  STORY. 

somewhat  I  have  seen  before ;  where  or  when  I  know  not :  but 
what  wouklst  thou  with  me  ?" 

"  Nay,  rather  what  wouklst  thou  here,  Thomas  Marsh?  What 
wouldst  thou  on  the  Frith  of  Aklington  ?  Is  it  a  score  or  two 
of  paltry  sheep?  or  is  it  something  nearer  to  thy  heart  f 

Marsh  started  as  the  last  words  were  pronounced  with  more 
than  common  significance:  a  J^ang  shot  through  him  at  the 
moment,  and  the  vinegar  aspect  of  the  charlatan  seemed  to 
relax  into  a  smile  half  compassionate,  half  sardonic. 

"  Grammercy,"  quoth  Marsh,  after  a  long-drawn  breath, 
"  what  knowest  thou  of  me,  fellow,  or  of  my  concerns  ?  What 
knowest  thou " 

"This  know  I,  Master  Thomas  Marsh,"  said  the  stranger 
gravely,  "  that  thy  life  is  even  now  perilled,  evil  practices  are 
against  thee ;  but  no  matter,  thou  art  quit  for  the  nonce — other 
hands  than  mine  have  saved  thee !  Thy  pains  are  over.  Hark ! 
the  clock  strikes  One!"  As  he  spoke,  a  single  toll  from  the  bell- 
tower  of  Bilsington  came,  wafted  by  the  western  breeze,  over 
the  thick-set  and  lofty  oaks  which  intervened  between  the  Frith 
and  what  had  once  been  a  priory.  Doctor  Aldrovando  turned 
as  the  sound  came  floating  on  the  wind,  and  was  moving,  as  if 
half  in  ajiger,  towards  the  other  side  of  the  stage,  where  the 
mountebank,  his  fires  extinct,  was  now  disgorging  to  the  admir- 
ing crowd  yard  after  yard  of  gaudy-colored  ribbon. 

"  Stay !  Nay,  prithee  stay !"  cried  Marsh,  eagerly.  "  I  was 
wrong ;  in  faith  I  was.  A  change,  and  that  a  sudden  and  most 
marvellous,  hath  indeed  come  over  me ;  I  am  free ;  I  breathe 
again ;  I  feel  as  though  a  load  of  years  had  been  removed ; 
and,  is  it  possible  ? — hast  thou  done  this  ?" 

"  Thomas  Marsh  !"  said  the  Doctor,  pausing,  and  turning  for 
the  moment  on  his  heel,  "I  have  not:  I  repeat,  that  other  and 
more  innocent  hands  than  mine  have  done  this  deed.  Never- 
theless, heed  my  counsel  well !  Thou  art  parlously  encompassed ; 
I,  and  I  only,  have  the  means  of  relieving  thee.  Follow  thy 
courses ;  pursue  thy  journey ;  but  as  thou  vainest  life  and  more 
than  life,  be  at  the  foot  of  yonder  woody  knoll  what  time  the 
rising  moon  throws  her  first  beam  upon  the  bare  and  blighted 
summit  that  towers  above  its  trees." 

He  crossed  abruptly  to  the  opposite  quarter  of  the  scaffolding, 


TIIS  LEECH   OF  FOLKESTONE.  Ill 

and  was  in  au  instant  deeply  engaged  in  listening  to  those  whom 
the  cow's  horn  had  attracted,  and  in  prescribing  for  their  real 
or  fancied  ailments.  Vain  were  all  Marsh's  efforts  again  to 
attract  his  notice ;  it  was  evident  that  he  studiously  avoided 
him;  and  when,  after  an  hour  or  more  spent  in  useless  en- 
deavor, he  saw  the  object  of  his  anxiety  seclude  himself  once 
more  within  his  canvas  screen,  he  rode  slowly  and  thoughtfully 
off  the  field. 

What  should  he  do  ?  Was  the  man  a  mere  quack  ?  an  im- 
postor? His  name  thus  obtained!  that  might  be  easily  done. 
But  then,  his  secret  griefs ;  the  Doctor's  knowledge  of  them  ; 
their  cure :  for  he  felt  that  his  pains  Avere  gone,  his  healthful 
feelings  restored ! 

True,  Aldrovando,  if  that  were  his  name,  had  disclaimed 
all  co-operation  in  his  recovery ;  but  he  knew,  or  he  at  least  an- 
nounced it.  Nay,  more ;  he  had  hinted  that  he  was  yet  in  jeop- 
ardy ;  that  practices — and  the  chord  sounded  strangely  in 
unison  with  one  that  had  before  vibrated  within  him — that 
practices  were  in  operation  against  his  life !  It  was  enough ! 
He  would  keep  tryst  with  the  Conjurer,  if  conjurer  he  were; 
and,  at  least,  ascertain  who  and  what  he  was,  and  how  he  had 
become  acquainted  with  his  own  person  and  secret  afflictions. 

When  the  late  Mr.  Pitt  was  determined  to  keep  out  Buona- 
parte, and  prevent  his  gaining  a  settlement  in  the  county  of 
Kent,  among  other  ingenious  devices  adopted  for  that  purpose, 
he  caused  to  be  constructed  what  was  then,  and  has  ever  since 
been,  conventionally  termed  a  "  Military  Canal."  This  is  not 
a  very  practicable  ditch,  some  thirty  feet  wide,  and  nearly  nine 
feet  deep  in  the  middle,  extending  from  the  town  and  port  of 
Hithe  to  within  a  mile  of  the  town  and  port  of  Rye,  a  distance 
of  about  twenty  miles ;  and  forming,  as  it  were,  the  cord  of  a 
bow,  the  arc  of  which  constitutes  that  remote  fifth  quarter  of 
the  globe  spoken  of  by  travellers.  Trivial  objections  to  the 
plan  were  made  at  the  time  by  cavillers ;  and  an  old  gentleman 
of  the  neighborhood,  who  proposed,  as  a  cheap  substitute,  to 
put  down  his  own  cocked  hat  upon  a  pole,  was  deservedly  pooh- 
poohed  down ;  in  fact,  the  job,  though  rather  an  expensive  one, 
was  found  to  answer  remarkably  well.  The. French  managed, 
indeed,  to  scramble  over  the  Rhine,  and  the  Ehone,  and  other 


112  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

iusignificant  currents;  but  they  never  did,  or  could,  pass  Mr. 
Pitt's  "  Military  Canal."  At  no  great  distance  from  the  centre 
of  this  cord  rises  abruptly  a  sort  of  woody  promontory,  in  shape 
almost  conical ;  its  sides  covered  with  thick  underwood,  above 
which  is  seen  a  bare  and  brown  summit  rising  like  an  Alp  in 
miniature.  The  "  defence  of  the  nation  "  not  being  then  in  ex- 
istence, Master  Marsh  met  with  no  obstruction  in  reaching  this 
place  of  appointment  long  before  the  time  prescribed. 

So  much,  indeed,  was  his  mind  occupied  by  his  adventure 
and  extraordinary  cure  that  his  original  design  had  been  aban- 
doned, and  Master  Cobbe  remained  unvisited.  A  rude  hostel 
in  the  neighborhood  furnished  entertainment  for  man  and 
horse ;  and  here,  a  full  hour  before  the  rising  of  the  moon,  he 
left  Ralph  and  the  other  beasts,  proceeding  to  his  rendezvous 
on  foot  and  alone. 

"You  are  punctual.  Master  Marsh,"  squeaked  the  shrill 
voice  of  the  Doctor,  issuing  from  the  thicket  as  the  first  silvery 
gleam  trembled  on  the  aspens  above.  "  'Tis  well ;  now  follow 
me,  and  in  silence." 

The  first  part  of  the  command  Marsh  hesitated  not  to  obey ; 
the  second  was  more  difficult  of  observance. 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ?  "Whither  are  you  leading  me  ?" 
burst  hot  unnaturally  from  his  lips;  but  all  question  was  at 
once  cut  short  by  the  peremptory  tones  of  his  guide. 

"  Hush !  I  say ;  your  finger  on  your  lip :  there  be  hawks 
abroad.  Follow  me,  and  that  silently  and  quickly."  The 
little  man  turned  as  he  spoke,  and  led  the  way  through  a 
scarcely  j)erceptible  path,  or  track,  which  wound  among  the 
underwood.  The  lapse  of  a  few  minutes  brought  them  to  the 
door  of  a  low  building,  so  hidden  by  the  surroundiug  trees  that 
few  would  have  suspected  its  existence.  It  was  a  cottage  of 
rather  extraordinary  dimensions,  but  consisting  of  only  one 
floor.  No  smoke  rose  from  its  solitary  chimney ;  no  cheering 
ray  streamed  from  its  single  window,  which  was,  however, 
secured  by  a  shutter  of  such  thickness  as  to  preclude  the  pos- 
sibility of  any  stray  beam  issuing  from  within.  The  exact  size 
of  the  building  it  was,  in  that  uncertain  light,  difficult  to  dis- 
tinguish, a  portion  of  it  seeming  buried  in  the  wood  behind. 
The  door  gave  way  on  the  application  of  a  key,  and  Marsh  fol- 


THE  LEECH    OF  FOLKESTONE.  113 

lowed  his  conductor  resolutely,  but  cautiously,  along  a  narrow 
passage,  feebly  lighted  by  a  small  taper  that  \yinked  and 
twinkled  at  its  farther  extremity.  The  Doctor,  as  he  ap- 
proached, raised  it  from  the  ground,  and,  opening  an  adjoining 
door,  ushered  his  guest  into  the  room  beyond. 

It  was  a  large  and  oddly  furnished  apartment,  insufficiently 
lighted  by  an  iron  lamp  that  hung  from  the  roof,  and  scarcely 
illumined  the  walls  and  angles,  which  seemed  to  he  composed 
of  some  dark-colored  wood.  On  one  side,  however.  Master 
Marsh  could  discover  an  article  bearing  strong  resemblance  to 
a  coffin ;  on  the  other  was  a  large  oval  mirror  in  an  ebony 
frame;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  floor  was  described,  in  red 
chalk,  a  double  circle,  about  six  feet  in  diameter,  its  inner 
verge  inscribed  with  sundry  hieroglyphics,  agreeably  relieved 
at  intervals  with  an  alternation  of  skulls  and  cross-bones.  In 
the  very  centre  was  deposited  one  skull  of  such  surpassing  size 
and  thickness  as  would  have  filled  the  soul  of  a  Spurzheim  or 
De  Ville  with  wonderment.  A  large  book,  a  naked  sword,  an 
hour-glass,  a  chafing-dish,  and  a  black  cat,  completed  the  list 
of  movables, — with  the  exception  of  a  couple  of  tapers  which 
stood  on  each  side  of  the  mirror,  and  which  the  strange  gen- 
tleman now  proceeded  to  light  from  the  one  in  his  hand.  As 
they  flared  up  with  what  Marsh  thought  a  most  unnatural  bril- 
liancy, he  perceived  reflected  in  the  glass  behind  a  dial  sus- 
pended over  the  coffin-like  article  already  mentioned  ;  the  hand 
was  fast  verging  towards  the  hour  of  nine.  The  eyes  of  the 
little  Doctor  seemed  riveted  on  the  horologe. 

"  Now  strip  thee,  Master  Marsh,  and  that  quickly :  uutruss, 
I  say !  discard  thy  boots,  doff"  doublet  and  hose,  and  place  thy- 
self incontinent  in  yonder  bath." 

The  visitor  cast  his  eyes  again  upon  the  formidable-looking 
article,  and  perceived  that  it  was  nearly  filled  with  water.  A 
cold  bath,  at  such  an  hour  and  under  such  auspices,  was  any- 
thing but  inviting:  he  hesitated,  and  turned  his  eyes  alter- 
nately on  the  Doctor  and  the  Black  Cat. 

"  Trifle  not  the  time,  man,  an  you  be  wise,"  said  the  former. 
"  Passion  of  my  heart !  let  but  yon  minute-hand  reach  the  hour, 
and  thou  not  immersed,  thy  life  were  not  worth  a  pin's  fee !" 

The  Black  Cat  gave  vent  to  a  single  mew, — a  most  unnatural 
8 


114  3niS.   BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

sound  for  a  mouser :  it  seemed  as  it  were  mewed  through  a 
cow's  horn. 

"  Quick,  Master  Marsh !  uncase,  or  you  perish !"  repeated 
his  strange  host,  throwing  as  he  spoke  a  handful  of  some 
dingy-looking  powders  into  the  brasier.  "  Behold,  the  attack 
is  begun!"  A  thick  cloud  rose  from  the  embers;  a  cold  shiv- 
ering shook  the  astonished  Yeoman ;  sharp  pricking  pains  pen- 
etrated his  ankles  and  the  palms  of  his  hands ;  and  as  the 
smoke  cleared  away,  he  distinctly  saw  and  recognized  in  the 
mirror  the  boudoir  of  Marston  Hall. 

The  doors  of  the  well-known  ebony  cabinet  were  closed ;  but 
fixed  against  them,  and  standing  out  in  strong  relief  from  the 
contrast  afforded  by  the  sable  background,  was  a  waxen  im- 
age— of  himself!  It  appeared  to  be  secured,  and  sustained  in 
an  ujiright  posture,  by  large  black  pins  driven  through  the  feet 
and  palms,  the  latter  of  which  were  extended  in  a  cruciform 
position.  To  the  right  and  left  stood  his  wife  and  Jos6 ;  in  the 
middle,  with  his  back  towards  him,  was  a  figure  which  he  had 
no  diflSculty  in  recognizing  as  that  of  the  Leech  of  Folkestone. 
The  latter  had  just  succeeded  in  fastening  the  dexter  hand  of 
the  image,  and  was  now  in  the  act  of  drawing  a  broad  and 
keen-edged  sabre  from  its  sheath.  The  Black  Cat  mewed 
again.  "  Haste,  or  you  die !"  said  the  Doctor.  Marsh  looked 
at  the  dial ;  it  wanted  but  four  minutes  of  nine :  he  felt  that 
the  crisis  of  his  fate  was  come.  OflT  went  his  heavy  boots; 
doublet  to  the  right,  galligaskins  to  the  left ;  never  was  man 
more  swiftly  disrobed.  In  two  minutes,  to  use  an  Indian  ex- 
pression, he  was  "  all  face ;"  in  another  he  was  on  his  back  and 
up  to  his  chin  in  a  bath  which  smelt  strongly  as  of  brimstone 
and  garlic. 

"  Heed  well  the  clock !"  cried  the  Conjurer.  "  With  the  first 
stroke  of  Nine  plunge  thy  head  beneath  the  water, — suffer  not 
a  hair  above  the  surface :  plunge  deeply,  or  thou  art  lost !" 

The  little  man  had  seated  himself  in  the  centre  of  the  circle 
upon  the  large  skull,  elevating  his  legs  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees.  In  this  position  he  spun  round  with  a  velocity  to  be 
equalled  only  by  that  of  a  teetotum,  the  red  roses  on  his  insteps 
seeming  to  describe  a  circle  of  fire.  The  best  buckskins  that 
ever  mounted  at  Melton  had  soon  yielded  to  such  rotatory  fric- 


THE  LEECn  OF  FOLKESTONE.  115 

tion ;  but  he  spun  on ;  the  cat  mewed,  bats  and  obscene  birds 
fluttered  overhead ;  Erasmus  was  seen  to  raise  his  weapon  ;  the 
clock  struck! — and  Marsh,  who  had  "  ducked "  at  the  instant, 
popped  up  his  head  again,  spitting  and  sjjuttering,  half  choked 
with  the  infernal  solution,  which  had  insinuated  itself  into  his 
mouth  and  ears  and  nose.  All  disgust  at  his  nauseous  dip  was, 
however,  at  once  removed  when,  casting  his  eyes  on  the  glass, 
he  saw  the  consternation  of  the  party  whose  persons  it  exhib- 
ited. Erasmus  had  evidently  made  his  blow  and  failed ;  the 
figure  was  unmutilated ;  the  hilt  remained  in  the  hand  of  the 
striker,  while  the  shivered  blade  lay  in  shining  fragments  on 
the  floor. 

The  Conjurer  ceased  his  spinning  and  brought  himself  to  an 
anchor ;  the  Black  Cat  purred :  its  purring  seemed  strangely 
mixed  with  the  self-satisfied  chuckle  of  a  human  being.  Where 
had  Marsh  heard  something  like  it  before  ? 

He  was  rising  from  his  unsavory  coiich  when  a  motion  from 
the  little  man  checked  him.  "  Rest  where  you  are,  Thomas 
Marsh :  so  far  all  goes  well,  but  the  danger  is  not  yet  over." 
He  looked  again,  and  perceived  that  the  shadowy  triumvirate 
were  in  deep  and  eager  consultation ;  the  fragments  of  the 
shattered  weapon  appeared  to  undergo  a  close  scrutiny.  The 
result  was  clearly  unsatisfactory ;  the  lips  of  the  parties  moved 
rapidly,  and  much  gesticulation  might  be  observed,  but  no 
sound  fell  upon  the  ear.  The  hand  of  the  dial  had  nearly 
reached  the  quarter :  at  once  the  parties  separated ;  and  Buck- 
thorne  stood  again  before  the  figure,  his  hand  armed  with  a 
long  and  sharp-pointed  misericorde,  a  dagger  little  in  use  of 
late,  but  such  as,  a  century  before,  often  performed  the  part  of 
a  modern  oyster-knife  in  tickling  the  osteology  of  a  dismounted 
cavalier  through  the  shelly  defences  of  his  plate  armor.  Again 
he  raised  his  arm,  "  Duck !"  roared  the  Doctor,  spinning  away 
upon  his  cephalic  pivot : — the  Black  Cat  cocked  his  tail,  and 
seemed  to  mew  the  word  "  Duck !"  Down  went  Master  Marsh's 
head ;  one  of  his  hands  had  unluckily  been  resting  on  the  edge 
of  the  bath ;  he  drew  it  hastily  in,  but  not  altogether  scathe- 
less :  the  stump  of  a  rusty  nail,  projecting  from  the  margin  of 
the  bath,  had  caught  and  slightly  grazed  it.  The  pain  was 
more  acute  than  is  usually  produced  by  such  trivial  accidents ; 


116  Mi:S.   BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

and  Marsh,  on  once  more  raising  his  head,  beheld  the  dagger 
of  the  Leech  sticking  in  the  little  finger  of  the  wax  figure, 
which  it  had  seemingly  nailed  to  the  cabinet  door. 

"  By  my  truly,  a  scape  of  the  narrowest !"  quoth  the  Conjurer. 
"  The  next  course,  dive  you  not  the  readier,  there  is  no  more  life 
in  you  than  in  a  pickled  herring.  What !  courage.  Master  Marsh ; 
but  be  heedful :  an  they  miss  again,  let  them  bide  the  issue !" 

He  drew  his  hand  athwart  his  brow  as  he  spoke,  and  dashed 
off  the  perspiration  which  the  violence  of  his  exercise  had  drawn 
from  every  pore.  Black  Tom  sprang  upon  the  edge  of  the  bath 
and  stared  full  in  the  face  of  the  bather.  His  sea-green  eyes 
were  lambent  with  unholy  fire,  but  their  marvellous  obliquity 
of  vision  was  not  to  be  mistaken ; — the  very  countenance  too ! 
Could  it  be  ? — the  features  were  feline,  but  their  expression  was 
that  of  the  Jack-pudding !  Was  the  mountebank  a  cat  ?  or 
the  cat  a  mountebank  ?  It  was  all  a  mystery ! — and  Heaven 
knows  how  long  Marsh  'might  have  continued  staring  at  Grim- 
alkin had  not  his  attention  been  again  called  by  Aldrovando 
to  the  magic  mirror. 

Great  dissatisfaction,  not  to  say  dismay,  seemed  now  to  per- 
vade the  conspirators.  Dame  Isabel  was  closely  inspecting  the 
figure's  wounded  hand,  while  Jose  was  aiding  the  pharmacopo- 
list  to  charge  a  huge  jDctronel  with  powder  and  bullets.  The 
load  was  a  heavy  one ;  but  Erasmus  seemed  determined  this 
time  to  make  sure  of  his  object.  Somewhat  of  trepidation 
might  be  observed  in  his  manner  as  he  rammed  down  the  balls, 
and  his  withered  cheek  appeared  to  have  acquired  an  increase 
of  paleness  ;  but  amazement  rather  than  fear  was  the  prevailing 
symptom,  and  his  countenance  betrayed  no  jot  of  irresolution. 
As  the  clock  was  about  to  chime  half-past  nine,  he  planted 
himself  with  a  firm  foot  in  front  of  the  image,  waved  his  un- 
occupied hand  with  a  cautionary  gesture  to  his  companions, 
and,  as  they  hastily  retired  on  either  side,  brought  the  muzzle 
of  his  weajion  within  half  a  foot  of  his  mark.  As  the  shadowy 
form  was  about  to  draw  the  trigger,  Marsh  again  plunged  his 
head  beneath  the  surface ;  and  the  sound  of  an  explosion,  as  of 
fire-arms,  mingled  with  the  rush  of  water  that  poured  into  his 
ears.  His  immersion  was  but  momentary,  yet  did  he  feel  as 
though  half  suffocated :  he  sprang  from  the  bath,  and,  as  his 


TEE  LEECH   OF  FOLKESTONE.  117 

eye  fell  on  the  mirror,  he  saw, — or  thouglit  he  saw, — the  Leech 
of  Folkestone  lying  dead  on  the  floor  of  his  wife's  boudoir,  his 
head  shattered  to  pieces,  and  his  hand  still  grasping  the  stock 
of  a  bursten  petroncl. 

He  saw  no  more ;  his  head  swam,  his  senses  reeled,  the  whole 
room  was  turning  round,  and,  as  he  fell  to  the  ground,  the  last 
impressions  to  which  he  was  conscious  were  the  chucklings  of  a 
hoarse  laughter,  and  the  mewings  of  a  torn  cat ! 

Master  Marsh  was  found  the  next  morning  by  his  bewildered 
serving-man,  stretched  before  the  door  of  the  humble  hostel  at 
which  he  sojourned.  His  clothes  were  somewhat  torn  and 
much  bemired ;  and  deeply  did  honest  Ralph  marvel  that  one 
so  staid  and  grave  as  Master  INIarsh  of  Marston  should  thus 
have  played  the  roisterer,  missing,  perchance,  a  profitable 
bargain  for  the  drunken  orgies  of  midnight  wassail,  or  the 
endearments  of  some  rustic  light-o'-love.  Tenfold  was  his 
astonishment  increased  when,  after  retracing  in  silence  their 
journey  of  the  preceding  day,  the  Hall,  on  their  arrival  about 
noon,  was  found  in  a  state  of  the  uttermost  confusion.  No 
wife  stood  there  to  greet  with  the  smile  of  bland  affection  her 
returning  spouse ;  no  page  to  hold  his  stirrup,  or  receive  his 
gloves,  his  hat,  and  riding-rod.  The  doors  were  open,  the  rooms 
in  most  admired  disorder  ;  men  and  maidens  peeping,  hurrying 
hither  and  thither,  and  popping  in  and  out,  like  rabbits  in  a 
warren.     The  lady  of  the  mansion  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

Jose,  too,  had  disappeared  ;  the  latter  had  been  last  seen 
riding  furiously  towards  Folkestone  early  in  the  preceding 
afternoon :  to  a  question  from  Hodge  Gardener  he  had  hastily 
answered  that  he  bore  a  missive  of  moment  from  his  mistress. 
The  lean  apprentice  of  Erasmus  Buckthorue  declared  that  tlie 
page  had  summoned  his  master,  in  haste,  about  six  of  the 
clock,  and  that  they  had  rode  forth  together,  as  he  verily 
believed,  on  their  way  back  to  the  Hall,  where  he  had  supposed 
Master  Buckthorne's  services  to  be  suddenly  required  on  some 
pressing  emergency.  Since  that  time  he  had  seen  nought  of 
either  of  them ;  the  gray  cob,  however,  had  returned  late  at 
night,  masterless,  with  his  girths  loose  and  the  saddle  turned 
upside  down. 

Nor  was  Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne  ever  seen  again.    Strict 


118  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

search  was  made  through  the  neighhorhood,  hut  without  suc- 
cess ;  and  it  was  at  leugth  presumed  that  he  must,  for  reasons 
which  nohody  could  divine,  have  absconded,  together  with 
Jose  and  his  faithless  mistress.  The  latter  had  carried  oiF  with 
her  the  strong  box,  divers  articles  of  valuable  j)late,  and  jewels 
of  price.  Her  boudoir  appeared  to  have  been  completely 
ransacked ;  the  cabinet  and  drawers  stood  open  and  empty ; 
the  very  carpet,  a  luxury  then  newly  introduced  into  England, 
was  gone.  Marsh,  however,  could  trace  no  vestige  of  the 
visionary  scene  which  he  affirmed  to  have  been  last  night 
presented  to  his  eyes. 

Much  did  the  neighbors  marvel  at  his  story  : — some  thought 
him  mad  ;  others  that  he  was  merely  indulging  in  that  privilege 
to  which,  as  a  traveller,  he  had  a  right  indefeasible.  Trusty 
Ralph  said  nothing,  but  shrugged  his  shoulders ;  and,  falling 
into  the  rear,  imitated  the  action  of  raising  a  wine-cup  to  his 
lips.  An  opinion,  indeed,  soon  prevailed  that  Master  Thomas 
Marsh  had  gotten,  in  common  parlance,  exceedingly  drunk  on 
the  preceding  evening,  and  had  dreamt  all  that  he  so  circum- 
stantially related.  This  belief  acquired  additional  credit 
when  they  whom  curiosity  induced  to  visit  the  woody  knoll 
of  Aldington  Mount  declared  that  they  could  find  no  building 
such  as  that  described,  nor  any  cottage  near ;  save  one,  indeed, 
a  low-roofed  hovel,  once  a  house  of  public  entertainment,  but 
now  half  in  ruins.  The  "Old  Cat  and  Fiddle" — so  was  the 
tenement  called — had  been  long  uninhabited ;  yet  still  exhib- 
ited the  remains  of  a  broken  sign,  on  which  the  keen  observer 
might  decipher  something  like  a  rude  portrait  of  the  animal 
from  which  it  derived  its  name.  It  was  also  supposed  still  to 
afford  an  occasional  asylum  to  the  smugglers  of  the  coast,  but 
no  trace  of  any  visit  from  sage  or  mountebank  could  be  de- 
tected ;  nor  was  the  wise  Aldrovando,  whom  many  remembered 
to  have  seen  at  the  fair,  ever  found  again  on  all  that  country-side. 

Of  the  runaways  nothing  was  ever  certainly  known.  A 
boat,  the  property  of  an  old  fisherman  who  plied  his  trade  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  had  been  seen  to  quit  the  bay  that 
night ;  and  there  were  those  who  declared  that  she  had  more 
hands  on  board  than  Garden  and  his  son,  her  usual  comple- 
ment;   but  as  the  gale   came   on,   and   the   frail   bark   was 


THE  LEECH   OF  FOLKESTONE. 


110 


eventually  found  keel  upwards  on  the  Goodwin  Sands,  it  was 
presumed  that  she  had  struck  on  that  fatal  quicksand  in  the 
dark,  and  that  all  on  board  had  perished. 

Little  Marian,  whom  her  profligate  mother  had  abandoned, 
grew  up  to  be  a  fine  girl,  and  a  handsome.  She  became,  more- 
over, heiress  to  Marston  Hall,  and  brought  the  estate  into  the 
Ingoldsby  family  by  her  marriage  with  one  of  its  scions. 

Thus  far  Mrs.  Botherby. 

It  is  a  little  singular  that,  on  pulling  down  the  old  Hall  in 
my  grandfather's  time,  a  human  skeleton  was  discovered  among 
the  rubbish ;   under  what  particular  part  of  the  building  I 


could  never  with  any  accuracy  ascertain ;  but  it  was  found 
enveloped  in  a  tattered  cloth  that  seemed  to  have  been  once 
a  carpet,  and  which  fell  to  pieces  almost  immediately  on  being 
exposed  to  the  air.  The  bones  were  perfect,  but  those  of  one 
hand  were  wanting ;  and  the  skull,  perhaps  from  the  laborer's 
pickaxe,  had  received  considerable  injury ;  the  worm-eaten 
stock  of  an  old-fashioned  pistol  lay  near,  together  with  a  rusty 
piece  of  iron  which  a  workman,  more  sagacious  than  his  fellows, 


120  MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY. 

pronounced  a  portion  of  the  lock  ;  but  nothing  was  found  which 
the  utmost  stretch  of  human  ingenuity  could  twist  into  a  barrel. 
The  portrait  of  the  fair  Marian  hangs  yet  in  the  Gallery  of 
Tappington ;  and  near  it  is  another,  of  a  young  man  in  the 
prime  of  life,  which  Mrs.  Botherby  affirms  to  be  that  of  her 
father.  It  exhibits  a  mild  and  rather  melancholy  countenance, 
with  a  high  forehead,  and  the  peaked  beard  and  moustaches 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  The  signet-finger  of  the  left  hand 
is  gone,  and  appears,  on  close  inspection,  to  have  been  painted 
out  by  some  later  artist ;  i:)ossibly  in  compliment  to  the  tra- 
dition, which,  teste  Botherby,  records  that  of  Mr.  Marsh  to 
have  gangrened,  and  to  have  undergone  amputation  at  the 
knuckle-joint.  If  really  the  resemblance  of  the  gentleman 
alluded  to,  it  must  have  been  taken  at  some  period  antecedent 
to  his  marriage.  There  is  neither  date  nor  painter's  name ; 
but  a  little  above  the  head,  on  the  dexter  side  of  the  picture, 
is  an  escutcheon,  bearing  "Quarterly,  Gules  and  Argent,  in 
the  first  quarter  a  horse's  head  of  the  second ;"  beneath  it  are 
the  words  "JEtatis  suce  26."  On  the  opposite  side  is  the  following 
mark,  which  Mr.  Simpkinson  declares  to  be  that  of  a  Merchant 
of  the  Staple,  and  pretends  to  discover,  in  the  monogram  com- 
prised in  it,  all  the  characters  which  compose  the  name  of 
THOMAS  MARSH,  of  MARSTON. 


Respect  for  the  feelings  of  an  honorable  family, — nearly 
connected  with  the  Ingoldsbys, — has  induced  me  to  veil  the 
real  "  sponsorial  and  patronymic  appellations  "  of  my  next  hero 
under  a  sobriquet  interfering  neither  with  rhyme  nor  rhythm.* 
I  shall  merely  add  that  every  incident  in  the  stpry  bears  on 
the  face  of  it  the  stamp  of  veracity,  and  that  many  "  persons  of 
honor "  in  the  county  of  Berks,  who  well  recollected  Sir  George 
Rooks's  expedition  against  Gibraltar,  would,  if  they  w^ere  now 
alive,  gladly  bear  testimony  to  the  truth  of  every  syllable. 

*  Pack  o'  nonsense ! — Everybody  as  belongs  to  him  is  dead  and  gone — and  everybody 
knows  that  the  poor  young  gentleman's  real  name  wasn't  Sobriquet  at  all,  but  Hamp- 
den Pye,  Esq.,  and  that  one  of  his  uncles— or  cousins— used  to  make  verses  about  the 


LEGEND    OF  HAMILTON  TIGHE.  121 

Hegentr  of  ii^amilton  Eitjije. 

THE  Captain  is  walking  his  quarter-deck, 
With  a  troubled  brow  and  a  bended  neck ; 
One  eye  is  down  through  the  hatchway  cast, 
The  other  turns  up  to  the  truck  on  the  mast ; 
Yet  none  of  the  crew  may  venture  to  hint 
"  Our  Skipper  hath  gotten  a  sinister  squint !" 

The  Captain  again  the  letter  hath  read 

Which  the  bumboat  woman  brought  out  to  Spithead — 

Still,  since  the  good  ship  sailed  away, 

He  reads  that  letter  three  times  a  day ; 

Yet  the  writing  is  broad  and  fair  to  see 

As  a  Skipper  may  read,  in  his  degree. 

And  the  seal  is  as  black,  and  as  broad,  and  as  flat, 

As  his  own  cockade  in  his  own  cocked  hat : 

He  reads,  and  he  says,  as  he  walks  to  and  fro, 

"  Curse  the  old  woman — she  bothers  me  so !" 

He  pauses  now,  for  the  topmen  hail — 

"  On  the  larboard  quarter  a  sail !  a  sail !" 

That  grim  Old  Captain  he  turns  him  quick, 

And  bawls  through  his  trumpet  for  Hairy-faced  Dick. 

"  The  breeze  is  blowing — huzza !  huzza ! 

The  breeze  is  blowing — away  !  away  ! 

The  breeze  is  blowing — a  race !  a  race ! 

The  breeze  is  blowing — we  near  the  chase ! 

Blood  will  flow,  and  bullets  will  fly, — 

Oh  where  will  be  then  young  Hamilton  Tighe  ?" 

— "  On  the  foeman's  deck,  where  a  man  should  be, 
With  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  his  foe  at  his  knee. 
Cockswain,  or  boatswain,  or  reefer  may  try, 
But  the  first  man  on  board  will  be  Hamilton  Tighe !" 

king  and  the  queen,  and  had  a  sack  of  money  for  doing  it  every  year ; — and  that's  his 
picture  in  the  blue  coat  aud  little  gold-laced  cocked  hat  that  hangs  on  the  stairs  over 
the  door  of  the  passage  that  leads  to  the  blue  room. — Sobriquet! — but  there! — The 
Squire  wrote  it  after  dinner! — Elizabeth  Botherby. 


122  LEGEND    OF  HAMILTON  TIGHE 

Hairy-faced  Dick  hath  a  swarthy  hue, 
Between  a  gingerbread-uut  and  a  Jew, 
And  his  pigtail  is  long,  and  bushy,  and  thick. 
Like  a  pump-handle  stuck  on  the  end  of  a  stick. 
Hairy -faced  Dick  understands  his  trade  ; 
He  stands  by  the  breech  of  a  long  carronade, 
The  linstock  glows  in  his  bony  hand. 
Waiting  that  grim  old  Skipper's  command. 

"  The  bullets  are  flying — huzza !  huzza ! 
.  The  bullets  are  flying — away !  away !" 
The  brawny  boarders  mount  by  the  chains, 
And  are  over  their  buckles  in  blood  and  in  brains : 
On  the  foeman's  deck,  where  a  man  should  be. 

Young  Hamilton  Tighe     Waves  his  cutlass  high, 
And  Capitaine  Ch'apaud  bends  low  at  his  knee. 

Hairy-faced  Dick,  linstock  in  hand, 

Is  waiting  that,  grim-looking  Skipper's  command : — 

A  wink  comes  sly     From  that  sinister  eye — 
Hairy-faced  Dick  at  once  lets  fly. 
And  knocks  ofi"  the  head  of  Young  Hamilton  Tighe ! 

There's  a  lady  sits  lonely  in  bower  and  hall, 

Her  pages  aud  handmaidens  come  at  her  call : 

"  Now,  haste  ye,  my  handmaidens,  haste  and  see 

How  he  sits  there  and  glow'rs  with  his  head  on  his  knee !' 

The  maidens  smile,  and,  her  thought  to  destroy, 

They  bring  her  a  little,  pale,  mealy-faced  boy ; 

And  the  mealy-faced  boy  says,  "  Mother,  dear. 

Now  Hamilton's  dead,  I've  a  thousand  a  year !" 

The  lady  has  donned  her  mantle  and  hood. 
She  is  bound  for  shrift  at  Saint  Mary's  Rood : — 
"  Oh !  the  taper  shall  burn,  and  the  bell  shall  toll, 
And  the  mass  shall  be  said  for  my  stepson's  soul, 
And  the  tablet  fair  shall  be  hung  on  high, 
Orate  pro  animd  Hamilton  Tighe." 


LEGEND    OF  HAMILTON  TIGHE.  123 

Her  coach  and  four     Draws  up  to  the  door, 
With  her  groom  and  her  footman,  and  half  a  score  more ; 
The  lady  steps  into  her  coach  alone. 
They  hear  her  sigh,  and  they  hear  her  groan, 
They  close  the  door,  and  th-ey  turn  the  pin. 
But  there^s  One  rides  with  her  that  never  stept  in  ! 
All  the  way  there,  and  all  the  way  back. 
The  harness  strains  and  the  coach-springs  crack. 
The  horses  snort  and  plunge  and  kick, 
Till  the  coachman  thinks  he  is  driving  Old  Nick ; 
And  the  grooms  and  the  footmen  wonder,  and  say 
"  What  makes  the  old  coach  so  heavy  to-day  ?" 
But  the  mealy-faced  boy  peeps  in  and  sees 
A  man  sitting  there  with  his  head  on  his  knees  I 

'Tis  ever  the  same, — in  hall  or  in  bower. 

Wherever  the  place,  whatever  the  hour. 

That  Lady  mutters,  and  talks  to  the  air,  , 

And  her  eye  is  fixed  on  an  empty  chair ; 

But  the  mealy-faced  boy  still  whispers  with  dread, 

"  She  talks  to  a  man  with  never  a  head !" 


There's  an  old  Yellow  Admiral  living  at  Bath, 

As  gray  as  a  badger,  as  thin  as  a  lath ; 

And  his  very  queer  eyes  have  such  very  queer  leers, 

They  seem  to  be  trying  to  peep  at  his  ears ; 

That  old  Yellow  Admiral  goes  to  the  Rooms, 

And  he  plays  long  whist,  but  he  frets  and  he  fumes, 

For  all  his  Knaves  stand  upside  down. 

And  the  Jack  of  Clubs  does  nothing  but  frown ; 

And  the  Kings,  and  the  Aces,  and  all  the  best  trumps 

Get  into  the  hands  of  the  other  old  frumps ; 

While,  close  to  his  partner,  a  man  he  sees 

Counting  the  tricks  with  his  head  on  his  knees. 

In  Ratcliffe  Highway  there's  an  old  marine  store, 
And  a  great  black  doll  hangs  out  of  the  door ; 


124  LEGEND    OF  HAMILTON  TIGHE. 

There  are  rusty  locks,  and  dusty  bags, 

Aud  musty  phials,  and  fusty  rags, 

And  a  lusty  old  woman,  called  Thirsty  Nan, 

And  her  crusty  old  husband's  a  Hairy -faced  man ! 

That  Hairy-faced  man  is  sallow  and  wan. 
And  his  great  thick  pigtail  is  withered  and  gone ; 
And  he  cries,  "  Take  away  that  lubberly  chap 
That  sits  there  and  grins  with  his  head  in  his  lap  !" 
And  the  neighbors  say,  as  they  see  him  look  sick, 
"  What  a  rum  old  covey  is  Hairy-faced  Dick !" 

That  Admiral,  Lady,  and  Hairy-faced  man 

May  say  what  they  please,  and  may  do  what  they  can ; 

But  one  thing  seems  remarkably  clear, — 

They  may  die  to-morrow,  or  live  till  next  year, — 

But  wherever  they  live,  or  whenever  they  die. 

They'll  never  get  quit  of  young  Hamilton  Tighe ! 


The  When, — the  Where, — and  the  How, — of  the  succeeding 
narrative  speak  for  themselves.  It  may  be  proper,  however,  to 
observe  that  the  ruins  here  alluded  to,  and  improperly  termed 
"the  Abbey,"  are  not  those  of  Bolsover,  described  in  a  pre- 
ceding page,  but  the  remains  of  a  Preceptory  once  belonging 
to  the  Knights  Templars,  situate  near  Swynfield,  Swinkefield, 
or,  as  it  is  now  generally  spelt  and  pronounced,  Swingfield, 
Minnis,  a  rough  tract  of  common  land  now  undergoing  the 
process  of  enclosure,  and  adjoining  the  woods  and  -arable  lands 
of  Tappington,  at  the  distance  of  some  two  miles  from  the 
Hall,  to  the  southeastern  windows  of  which  the  time-worn 
walls  in  question,  as  seen  over  the  intervening  coppices,  pre- 
sent a  picturesque  and  striking  object. 


THE    WITCHES'    FROLIC.  125 


[Scene,  the  "Snuggery"  at  Tappington.— Grandpapa  in  a  high-backed  cane-hottomed 
elbow-chair  of  carved  walnut-tree,  dozing;  his  nose  at  an  angle  of  forty-tivo 
degrees, — his  thumbs  slowly  perform  the  rotatory  motion  described  by  loxico- 
graphers  as  "  twiddling." — The  "  Hope  of  the  family"  astride  on  a  walking-stick, 
with  burnt-cork  moustaches,  and  a  pheasant's  tail  pinned  in  his  cap,  solacrth 
himself  with  martial  music. — Roused  by  a  strain  of  surpassing  dissonance,  Grand- 
papa loquitur.^ 

COME  hither,  come  hither,  my  little  boy  Ned ! 
Come  hither  unto  my  knee— 
I  cannot  away  with  that  horrible  din, 
That  sixpenny  drum,  and  that  trumpet  of  tin. 
Oh,  better  to  wander  frank  and  free 
Through  the  Fair  of  good  St.  Bartlemy, 
Than  list  to  sudh  awful  minstrelsie. 
Now  lay,  little  Ned,  those  nuisances  by, 
And  I'll  rede  ye  a  lay  of  Grammarye, 

[Grandpapa  riseth,  yawneth  like  the  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano,  proceedeth  slowly 
to  the  window,  and  apostrophizeth  the  Abbey  in  the  distance.] 

I  love  thy  tower.  Gray  Ruin, 
I  joy  thy  form  to  see, 

Though  reft  of  all,     Cell,  cloister,  and  hall, 
Nothing  is  left  save  a  tottering  wall 
That,  awfully  grand  and  darkly  dull, 
Threatened  to  fall  and  demolish  my  skull, 
As,  ages  ago,  I  wandered  along 
Careless  thy  grass-grown  courts  among, 
In  sky-bluejacket,  and  trousers  laced, 
The  latter  uncommonly  short  in  the  waist.     . 
Thou  art  dearer  to  me,  thou  Ruin  gi'ay. 
Than  the  Squire's  veranda  over  the  way ; 

And  fairer,  I  ween,     The  ivy-sheen 
That  thy  mouldering  turret  binds. 
Than  the  Alderman's  house  about  half  a  mile  off. 

With  the  green  Venetian  blinds. 
Full  many  a  tale  woulcf  my  Grandam  tell, 
In  many  a  bygone  day. 


126  THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC. 

Of  dai'ksome  deeds,  which  of  old  befell 

In  thee,  thou  Ruin  gray ! 
And  I  the  readiest  ear  would  lend, 

And  stare  like  frightened  pig ! 
While  my  Grandfather's  hair  would  have  stood  up  on  end, 

Had  he  not  worn  a  wig. 

One  tale  I  remember  of  mickle  dread — 
Now  lithe  and  listen,  my  little  boy  Ned ! 


Thou  mayest  have  read,  my  little  boy  Ned, 

Though  thy  mother  thine  idlesse  blames, 
In  Doctor  Goldsmith's  history  book. 

Of  a  gentleman  called  King  James, 
In  quilted  doublet,  and  great  trunk  breeches. 
Who  held  in  abhorrence  Tobacco  and  Witches. 

Well, — in  King  James's  golden  days, — 

For  the  days  were  golden  then, — 
They  could  not  be  less,  for  good  Queen  Bess 

Had  died,  aged  threescore  and  ten, 

And  her  days,  we  know,     Were  all  of  them  so ; 
While  the  Court  poets  sung,  and  the  Court  gallants  swore 
That  the  days  were  as  golden  still  as  before. 

Some  people,  'tis  true,  a  troublesome  few, 

Who  historical  points  would  unsettle, 
Have  lately  thrown  out  a  sort  of  a  doubt 

Of  the  genuine  ring  of  the  metal ; 
But  who  can  believe  to  a  monarch  so  wise 
People  would  dare  tell  a  parcel  of  lies ! 

— Well,  then,  in  good  King  James's  days, — . 

Golden  or  not  does  not  matter  a  jot, — 

Yon  Ruin  a  sort  of  a  roof  had  got ; 

For  though,  repairs  lacking,  its  walls  had  been  cracking 

Since  Harry  the  Eighth  sent  its  people  a-packing. 


THE   WITCHES'    FROLIC.  127 

Though  joists,  and  floors,     And  windows,  and  doors, 
Had  all  disappeared,  yet  pillars  by  scores 
Remained,  and  still  propped  up  a  ceiling  or  two, 
While  the  belfry  was  almost  as  good  as  new ; 
You  are  not  to  suppose  matters  looked  just  so 
In  the  Ruin  some  two  hundred  years  ago. 

Just  in  the  furthermost  angle,  where 

There  are  still  the  remains  of  a  winding  stair, 

One  turret  especially  high  in  air 

Upreared  its  tall  gaunt  form  ; 
As  if  defying  the  power  of  Fate,  or 
The  hand  of  "  Time  the  Innovator ;" 

And  though  to  the  pitiless  storm 
Its  weaker  brethren  all  around 
Bowing,  in  ruin  had  strewed  the  ground. 
Alone  it  stood,  while  its  fellows  lay  strewed, 
Like  a  four-bottle  man  in  a  company  "  screwed," — 
Not  firm  on  his  legs,  but  by  no  means  subdued. 

One  night, — 'twas  in  Sixteen  hundred  and  six, — 
I  like  when  I  can,  Ned,  the  date  to  fix, — 

The  month  was  May,     Though  I  can't  well  say 
At  this  distance  of  time  the  particular  day — 
But  oh  !  that  night,  that  horrible  night ! 
— Folks  ever  afterwards  said  with  affi'ight 
That  they  never  had  seen  such  a  terrible  sight. 

The  Sun  had  gone  down  fiery  red  ; 

And  if,  that  evening,  he  laid  his  head 

In  Thetis's  lap  beneath  the  seas, 

He  must  have  scalded  the  goddess's  knees. 

He  left  behind  him  a  lurid  track 

Of  blood-red  light  upon  clouds  so  black. 

That  Warren  and  Hunt,  with  the  whole  of  their  crew, 

Could  scarcely  have  given  them  a  darker  hue. 

There  came  a  shrill  and  a  whistling  sound, 
Above,  beneath,  beside,  and  around, 


128  THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC. 

Yet  leaf  ne'er  moved  on  tree ! 
So  that  some  people  thought  old  Beelzebub  must 
Have  been  locked  out  of  doors,  and  was  blowing  the  dust 
From  the  pipe  of  his  street-door  key. 
And  then  a  hollow  moaning  blast 
Came,  sounding  more  dismally  still  than  the  last, 
And  the  lightning  flashed,  and  the  thunder  growled, 
Aud  louder  and  louder  the  tempest  howled, 
And  the  rain  came  down  in  such  sheets  as  would  stagger  a 
Bard  for  a  simile  short  of  Niagara. 

Rob  Gilpin  "  waa  a  citizen ;" 

But  though  of  some  "  renown," 
Of  no  great  "  credit"  in  his  own 

Or  any  other  town. 

He  was  a  wild  and  roving  lad, 

For  ever  in  the  alehouse  boozing ; 
Or  romping, — which  is  quite  as  bad, — 

With  female  friends  of  his  own  choosing. 

And  Rob  this  very  day  had  made. 

Not  dreaming  such  a  storm  was  brewing, 

An  assignation  with  Miss  Slade, — 

Their  trysting-place  that  same  gray  Ruin. 

But  Gertrude  Slade  became  afraid. 

And  to  keep  her  appointment  unwilling, 

When  she  spied  the  rain  on  her  window-pane 
In  drops  as  big  as  a  shilling ; 

She  put  ofi"  her  hat  and  her  mantle  again : 

"  He'll  never  expect  me  in  all  this  rain !" 

But  little  he  recks  of  the  fears  of  the  sex. 

Or  that  maiden  false  to  her  tryst  could  be. 
He  had  stood  there  a  good  half  hour. 
Ere  yet  had  commenced  that  perilous  shower, 
Alone  by  the  trysting-tree ! 


THE    WITCHES'    FROLIC.  129 

Robin  looks  east,  Robin  looks  west, 

But  he  sees  not  her  Avhom  he  loves  the  best ; 

Robin  looks  uj),  and  Robin  looks  down, 

But  no  one  comes  from  the  neighboring  town. 

The  storm  came  at  last ; — loud  roared  the  blast, 
And  the  shades  of  evening  fell  thick  and  fast ; 
The  tempest  grew  ;  and  the  straggling  yew, 
His  leafy  umbrella,  was  wet  through  and  through. 
Rob  was  half  dead  with  cold  and  with  fright, 
When  he  spies  in  the  Ruins  a  twinkling  light — 
A  hop,  two  skips,  and  a  jump,  and  straight 
Rob  stands  within  that  postern  gate. 

And  there  were  gossips  sitting  there, 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three : 

Two  were  an  old  ill-favored  pair : 

But  the  third  was  young  and  passing  fair, 
With  laughing  eyes  and  with  coal-black  hair ; 

A  dainty  quean  was  she ! 
Rob  would  have  given  his  ears  to  sip 
But  a  single  salute  from  her  cherry  lip.  . 

As  they  sat  in  that  old  and  haunted  room, 
In  each  one's  hand  was  a  huge  birch  broom, 
On  each  one's  head  was  a  steeple-crowned  hat, 
On  each  one's  knee  was  a  coal-black  cat ; 
Each  had  a  kirtle  of  Lincoln  green — 
It  was,  I  trow,  a  fearsome  scene. 

"  Now  riddle  me,  riddle  me  right,  Madge  Gray, 
What  foot  unhallowed  wends  this  way  ? 
Goody  Price,  Goody  Price,  now  areed  me  right, 
Who  roams  the  old  Ruins  this  drearisome  night  ?" 

Then  up  and  spake  that  sonsie  quean. 

And  she  spake  both  loud  and  clear : 
"  Oh,  be  it  for  weal,  or  be  it  for  woe, 
Enter  friend,  or  enter  foe, 

Rob  Gilpin  is  welcome  here !" — 
9 


130  THE   WITCHES'    FROLIC. 

"  Now  tread  we  a  measure !  a  hall !  a  liall ! 
Now  tread  we  a  measure,"  quoth  she — 

The  heart  of  Robin     Beat  quick  and  throbbing — 
"  Roving  Rob,  tread  a  measure  with  me !" 
"  Ay,  lassie !"  quoth  Rob,  as  her  hand  he  gripes, 
"  Though  Satan  himself  were  blowing  the  pipes  I'* 

Now  around  they  go,  and  around,  and  around. 

With  hop-skip-and-jump,  and  frolicsome  bound ; 

Such  sailing  and  gliding.     Such  sinking  and  sliding, 
Such  lofty  curvetting,  «  And  grand  pirouetting, 

Ned,  you  would  swear  that  Monsieur  Gilbert 

And  Miss  Taglioni  were  capering  there ! 

And  oh  I  such  awful  music !  ne'er 

Fell  sounds  so  uncanny  on  mortal  ear. 

There  were  the  tones  of  a  dying  man's  groans 

Mixed  with  the  rattling  of  dead  men's  bones : 

Had  you  heard  the  shrieks,  and  the  squeals,  and  the  squeaks, 

You'd  not  have  forgotten  the  sound  for  weeks. 

And  around,  and  around,  and  around  they  go, 
Heel  to  heel,  and  toe  to  toe, — 
Prance  and  caper,  curvet  and  wheel. 
Toe  to  toe,  and  heel  to  heel. 

"  'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  Cummers,  I  trow. 

To  dance  thus  beneath  the  nightshade  bough !" — 

"  Goody  Price,  Goody  Price,  now  riddle  me  right. 
Where  may  we  sup  this  frolicsome  night?" 

"  Mine  host  of  the  Dragon  hath  mutton  and  veal  ; 

The  Squire  hath  partridge,  and  widgeon,  and  teal ; 

But  old  Sir  Thopas  hath  daintier  cheer, 

A  pasty  made  of  the  good  red  deer, 

A  huge  grouse-pie,  and  a  fine  Florentine, 

A  fat  roast  goose,  and  a  turkey  and  chine." — 

"  Madge  Gray,  Madge  Gray, 

Now  tell  me,  I  pray, 

Where's  the  best  wassail  bowl  to  our  roundelay  ?" 


THE    WITCHES'   FROLIC.  131 

"  There  is  ale  in  the  cellars  of  Tappington  Hall, 
But  the  Squire  *  is  a  churl,  and  his  drink  is  small ; 

Mine  host  of  the  Dragon     Hath  many  a  flagon 
Of  double  ale,  lambs'  wool,  and  eau  de  vie, 

But  Sir  Thopas,  the  Vicar,     Hath  costlier  liquor, — 
A  butt  of  the  choicest  Malvoisie. 

He  doth  not  lack     Canary  or  sack ; 
And  a  good  pint  stoup  of  Clary  wine 
Smacks  merrily  off  with  a  turkey  and  chine !" 

"  Now  away !  and  away !  without  delay, 
Sey  Cockalorum  /  my  Broomstick  gay ! 
"We  must  be  back  ere  the  dawn  of  the  day : 
Hey  up  the  chimney !  away !  away !" — 

Old  Goody  Price     Mounts  in  a  trice, 
In  showing  her  legs  she  is  not  over  nice ; 

Old  Goody  Jones,     All  skin  and  bones. 
Follows  "  like  winking." — Away  go  the  crones, 
Knees  and  nose  in  a  line  with  the  toes, 
Sitting  their  brooms  like  so  many  Ducrows ; 

Latest  and  last     The  damsel  passed. 
One  glance  of  her  coal-black  eye  she  cast ; 
She  laughed  with  glee  loud  laughters  three. 
"  Dost  fear,  Rob  Gilpin,  to  ride  with  me  ?" — 
Oh,  never  might  man  unscathed  espy 
One  single  glance  from  that  coal-black  eye. 

— Away  she  flew ! —    Without  more  ado 
Rob  seizes  and  mounts  on  a  broomstick  too, 
"  Hey  up  the  chimney,  lass !     Hey  after  you !" 

It's  a  very  fine  thing,  on  a  fine  day  in  June, 
To  ride  through  the  air  in  a  Nassau  Balloon ; 
But  you'll  find  very  soon,  if  you  aim  at  the  Moon 
In  a  carriage  like  that,  you're  a  bit  of  a  "  Spoon," 


*  Stephen  Ingoldsby,  surnamed  "  The  Niggard,"  second  cousin  and  successor  to 
"The  Bad  Sir  Giles."  (Visitation  of  Kent,  1666.)  For  an  account  of  his  murder  by 
burglars,  and  their  subsequent  execution,  see  Dodsley's  "  Remarkable  Trials,"  etc. 
Load.  1776,  vol.  ii.  p.  2&1,  ex  the  present  volume,  Art.  "  Hand  of  Glory." 


132  TITE   WITCHES'   FROLIC. 

For  the  largest  can't  fly    Above  twenty  miles  high, 
And  you're  not  half  way  then  on  your  journey,  nor  nigh ; 

While  no  man  alive     Could  ever  contrive, 
Mr.  Green  has  declared,  to  get  higher  than  five. 
And  the  soundest  Philosophers  hold  that,  perhaps, 
If  you  reached  twenty  miles  your  balloon  would  collapse. 

Or  pass  by  such  action     The  sphere  of  attraction, 
Getting  into  the  track  of  some  comet — Good  lack ! 
'Tis  a  thousand  to  one  that  you'd  never  come  back ; 
And  the  boldest  of  mortals  a  danger  like  that  must  fear, 
Rashly  protruding  beyond  our  own  atmosphere. 

No,  no  ;  when  I  try     A  trip  to  the  sky, 
I  shan't  go  in  that  thing  of  yours,  Mr.  Gye, 
Though  Messieurs  Monck  Mason,  and  Spencer,  and  Beazly, 
All  join  in  saying  it  travels  so  easily. 

No ;  there's  nothing  so  good    As  a  pony  of  wood — 
Not  like  that  which,  of  late,  they  stuck  up  on  the  gate 
At  the  end  of  the  Park,  which  caused  so  much  debate. 
And  gave  so  much  trouble  to  make  it  stand  straight — 
But  a  regular  Broomstick — you'll  find  that  the  favorite — 
Above  all,  when,  like  Bobin,  you  haven't  to  pay  for  it. 

— Stay — really  I  dread —     I  am  losing  the  thread 
Of  my  tale ;  and  it's  time  you  should  be  in  your  bed, 
So  lithe  now,  and  listen,  my  little  boy  Ned ! 


The  Vicarage  walls  are  lofty  and  thick. 

And  the  copings  are  stone,  and  the  sides  are  brick ; 

The  casements  are  narrow,  and  bolted  and  barred. 

And  the  stout  oak  door  is  heavy  and  hard ; 

Moreover,  by  way  of  additional  guard, 

A  great  big  dog  runs  loose  in  the  yard, 

And  a  horse-shoe  is  nailed  on  the  threshold  sill. 

To  keep  out  aught  that  savors  of  ill, — 

But,  alack !  the  chimney-pot's  open  still ! 

— That  great  big  dog  begins  to  quail. 

Between  his  hind  legs  he  drops  his  tail. 


THE  WITCHES'   FROLIC.  133 

•)uched  on  the  ground,  the  terrified  hound 
is  vent  to  -a  very  odd  sort  of  a  sound ; 
not  a  bark,  loud,  open,  and  free, 
'  honest  old  watch-dog's  bark  should  be ; 
,ot  a  yelp,  it  is  not  a  growl, 
something  between  a  whine  and  a  howl ; 
aark ! — a  sound  from  the  window  high 
uds  to  the  watch-dog's  pitiful  cry : 
t  is  not  a  moan,     It  is  not  a  groan  : 
\es  from  a  nose, — but  is  not  what  a  nose  ' 
reduces  in  healthy  and  sound  repose. 
Yet  Sir  Thopas  the  Vicar  is  fast  asleep. 
And  his  respirations  are  heavy  and  deep ! 

He  snores,  'tis  true,  but  he  snores  no  more 
As  he's  aye  been  accustomed  to  snore  before, 
And  as  men  o:f  his  kidney  are  wont  to  snore 
(Sir  Thopas's  weight  is  sixteen  stone  four) ; — 
He  draws  his  breath  like  a  man  distressed 
By  pain  or  grief,  or  like  one  oppressed 
By  some  ugly  old  Incubus  perched  on  his  breast. 

A  something  seems    To  disturb  his  dreams, 
And  thrice  on  his  ear,  distinct  and  clear, 
Falls  a  voice  as  of  somebody  whispering  near 
In  still  small  accents,  faint  and  few, 
"  Hey  down  the  chimney-pot !     Hey  after  you !" 

Throughout  the  Vicarage,  near  and  far. 
There  is  no  lack  of  bolt  or  of  bar ; 

There  are  plenty  of  locks     To  closet  and  box, 
Yet  the  pantry  wicket  is  standing  ajar ! 
And  the  little  low  door,  through  which  you  must  go, 
Down  some  half  dozen  steps,  to  the  cellar  below, 
Is  also  unfastened,  though  no  one  may  know, 
By  so  much  as  a  guess,  how  it  comes  to  be  so ; 

For  wicket  and  door.     The  evening  before. 
Were  both  of  them  locked,  and  the  key  safely  placed 
On  the  bunch  that  hangs  down  from  the  Housekeeper's  waist. 


134  THE   WITCHES'  FROLIC. 

Oh !  'twas  a  jovial  sight  to  view 

In  that  snug  little  cellar  that  frolicsome  crew ! — 

Old  Goody  Price     Had  got  something  nice, 
A  turkey-poult  larded  with  bacOn  and  spice ; 

Old  Goody  Jones    Would  touch  nought  that  had  bones, — 
She  might  just  as  well  mumble  a  parcel  of  stones. 
Goody  Jones,  in  sooth,  had  got  never  a  tooth. 
And  a  New-College  pudding  of  marrow  and  plums 
Is  the  dish  of  all  others  that  suiteth  her  gums. 

Madge  Gray  was  picking    The  breast  of  a  chicken ; 
Her  coal-black  eye,  with  its  glance  so  sly, 
Was  fixed  on  Rob  Gilpin  himself,  sitting  by 
With  his  heart  full  of  love,  and  his  mouth  full  of  pie ; 

Grouse-pie,  with  hare    In  the  middle,  is  fare 
Which,  duly  concocted  with  science  and  care, 
Doctor  Kitchener  says  is  beyond  all  compare  ; 

And  a  tenderer  leveret     Robin  had  never  ate ; 
So,  in  after  times,  oft  he  was  wont  to  asseverate. 

"  Now  pledge  we  the  wine-cup ! — a  health ! — a  health ! 

Sweet  are  the  pleasures  obtained  by  stealth ! 

Fill  up !  fill  up ! — the  brim  of  the  cup 

Is  the  part  that  aye  holdeth  the  toothsomest  sup ! 

Here's  to  thee.  Goody  Price ! — Goody  Jones,  to  thee ! — 

To  thee.  Roving  Rob !  and  again  to  me ! 

Many  a  sip,  never  a  slip. 

Come  to  us  four  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip !" 

The  cups  pass  quick.     The  toasts  fly  thick, 
Rob  tries  in  vain  out  their  meaning  to  pick. 
But  hears  the  words  "  Scratch,"  and  "  Old  Bogey,"  and  "  Nick." 

More  familiar  grown.     Now  he  stands  up  alone. 
Volunteering  to  give  them  a  toast  of  his  own. 

"  A  bumper  of  wine !     Fill  thine !     Fill  mine ! 
Here's  a  health  to  old  Noah  who  planted  the  Vine !" 

Oh  then  what  sneezing,     What  coughing  and  wheezing, 
Ensued  in  a  way  that  was  not  over  pleasing ; 
Goody  Price,  Goody  Jones,  and  the  pretty  Madge  Gray, 
All  seemed  as  their  liquor  had  gone  the  wrong  way. 


THE    WITCHES'    FROLIC.  136 

But  the  best  of  the  joke  was,  the  moment  he  spoke 

Those  words  which  the  party  seemed  almost  to  choke, 

As  by  mentioning  Noah  some  spell  had  been  broke, 

Every  soul  in  the  house  at  that  instant  awoke ! 

And,  hearing  the  din  from  barrel  and  bin, 

Drew  at  once  the  conclusion  that  thieves  had  got  in. 

Up  jumped  the  Cook  and  caught  hold  of  her  spit ; 

Up  jumped  the  Groom  and  took  bridle  and  bit ; 

Up  jumped  the  Gardener  and  shouldered  his  spade; 

Up  jumped  the  Scullion, — the  Footman, — the  Maid 

(The  two  last,  by  the  way,  occasioned  some  scandal 

By  appearing  together  with  only  one  candle. 

Which  gave  for  unpleasant  surmises  some  handle)  ; 

Up  jumped  the  Swineherd, — and  up  jumped  the  big  boy, 

A  nondescript  under  him,  acting  as  Pig-boy ; 

Butler,  Housekeeper,  Coachman — from  bottom  to  top 

Everybody  jumped  up  without  parley  or  stop, 

With   the   weapon   which   first  in  their  way   chanced  to 

drop, — 
Whip,  warming-pan,  wig-block,  mug,  musket,  and  mop. 

Last  of  all  doth  appear.     With  some  symptoms  of  fear. 
Sir  Thopas  in  person  to  bring  up  the  rear, 
In  a  mixed  kind  of  costume  half  Pontificalibtis, 
Half  what  scholars  denominate  Pure  Naturalibus ; 

Nay,  the  truth  to  express.     As  you'll  easily  guess. 
They  have  none  of  them  time  to  attend  much  to  dress ; 

But  He,  or  She,     As  the  case  may  be, 
He  or  She  seizes  what  He  or  She  pleases, 
Trunk-hosen  or  kirtles,  and  shirts  or  chemises, 
And  thus  one  and  all,  great  and  small,  short  and  tall, 
Muster  at  once  in  the  Vicarage  hall. 
With  upstanding  locks,  starting  eyes,  shortened  breath. 
Like  the  folks  in  the  Gallery  Scene  in  Macbeth, 
When  Macduff  is  announcing  their  Sovereign's  death. 
And  hark ! — what  accents  clear  and  strong 
To  the  listening  throng  came  floating  along ! 
'Tis  Robin  encoring  himself  in  a  song — 

"  Very  good  song !  very  well  sung ! 

Jolly  companions  every  one !" 


136  THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC. 

On,  on  to  the  cellar !  away !  away ! 

On,  on  to  the  cellar  without  more  delay ! 

The  whole  posse  rush  onwards  in  battle  array — 

Conceive  the  dismay  of  the  party  so  gay, 

Old  Goody  Jones,  Goody  Price,  and  Madge  Gray, 

When  the  door  bursting  wide,  they  descried  the  allied 

Troops,  prepared  for  the  onslaught,  roll  in  like  a  tide. 

And  the  spits,  and  the  tongs,  and  the  pokers  beside ! — 

"  Boot  and  saddle's  the  word !  mount,  Cummers,  and  ride !" — 

Alarm  was  ne'er  caused  more  strong  and  indigenous 

By  cats  among  rats,  or  a  hawk  in  a  pigeon-house ; 

Quick  from  the  view     Away  they  all  flew, 
With  a  yell,  and  a  screech,  and  a  halliballoo, 
"  Hey  up  the  chimney  1     Hey  after  you !" — 
The  Volscians  themselves  made  an  exit  less  speedy 
From  Corioli,  "flutter'd  like  doves"  by  Macready. 

They  are  gone, — save  one,     Robin  alone ! 
Robin,  whose  high  state  of  civilization 
Precludes  all  idea  of  aerostation  ; 

And  who  now  has  no  notion     Of  more  locomotion 
Than  suflBces  to  kick,  with  much  zeal  and  devotion. 
Right  and  left  at  the  party,  who  pounced  on  their  victim. 
And  mauled  him,  and  kicked  him,  and  licked  him,  and  pricked 

him. 
As  they  bore  him  away  scarce  aware  what  was  done, 
And  believing  it  all  but  a  part  of  the  fiin. 
Hie — hiccoughing  out  the  same  strain  he'd  begun, 
"  Jol — jolly  companions  every  one !" 


Morning  gray    Scarce  burst  into  day 
Ere  at  Tappington  Hall  there's  the  deuce  to  pay ; 
The  tables  and  chairs  are  all  placed  in  array 
In  the  old  oak-parlor,  and  in  and  out 
Domestics  and  neighbors,  a  motley  rout. 
Are  walking,  and  whispering,  and  standing  about ; 

And  the  Squire  is  there     In  his  large  arm-chair. 
Leaning  back  with  a  grave  magisterial  air ; 


THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC.  137 

In  the  front  of  a  seat  a     Huge  volume,  called  Fleta, 
And  Bracton,  a  tome  of  an  old-fashioned  look, 
And  Coke  ujDon  Lyttelton,  then  a  new  book ; 

And  he  moistens  his  lips  With  occasional  sips 
From  a  luscious  sack-posset  that  smiles  in  a  tankard 
Close  by  on  a  side-table — not  that  he  drank  hard, 

But  because  at  that  day,     I  hardly  need  say. 
The  Hong  Merchants  had  not  yet  invented  How  Qua, 
Nor  as  yet  would  you  see  Souchong  or  Bohea 
At  the  tables  of  persons  of  any  degree : 
How  our  ancestors  managed  to  do  without  tea 
I  must  fairly  confess  is  a  mystery  to  me ; 

Yet  your  Lydgates  and  Chaucers 

Had  no  cups  and  saucers ; 
Their  breakfast,  in  fact,  and  the  best  they  could  get, 
Was  a  sort  of  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette ; 

Instead  of  our  slops     They  had  cutlets  and  chops. 
And  sack-possets,  and  ale  in  stoups,  tankards,  and  pots ; 
And  they  wound  up  the  meal  with  rumpsteaks  and  'schalots. 

Now  the  Squire  lifts  his  hand     With  an  air  of  command, 
And  gives  them  a  sign,  which  they  all  understand, 
To  bring  in  the  culprit ;  and  straightway  the  carter 
And  huntsman  drag  in  that  unfortunate  martyr. 
Still  kicking,  and  crying  "  Come, — what  are  you  arter  ?" 
The  charge  is  prepared,  and  the  evidence  clear, 
"  He  was  caught  in  the  cellar  a-drinking  the  beer ! 
And  came  there,  there's  very  great  reason  to  fear, 
With  companions, — to  say  but  the  least  of  them, — queer ; 
Such  as  Witches,  and  creatures    With  horrible  features, 
And  horrible  grins,     And  hooked  noses  and  chins, 
Who'd  been  playing  the  deuce  with  his  Reverence's  bins," 
The  face  of  his  worship  grows  graver  and  graver, 
As  the  parties  detail  Robin's  shameful  behavior ; 
Mister  Buzzard,  the  clerk,  while  the  tale  is  reciting. 
Sits  down  to  reduce  the  affair  into  writing, 

With  all  proper  diction.     And  due  "  legal  fiction :" 
Viz.,  "  That  he,  the  said  prisoner,  as  clearly  was  shown. 
Conspiring  with  folks  to  deponents  unknown, 


138  THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC. 

With  divers — ^that  is  to  say,  two  thousand — people, 
In  two  thousand  hats,  each  hat  peaked  like  a  steeple, 

With  force  and  with  arms.    And  with  sorcery  and  charms. 
Upon  two  thousand  brooms.    Entered  four  thousand  rooms. 
To  wit,  two  thousand  pantries,  and  two  thousand  cellars, 
Put  in  bodily  fear  twenty  thousand  in-dwellers, 
And  wuth  sundry — that  is  to  say,  two  thousand — forks. 
Drew  divers — that  is  to  say,  ten  thousand — corks. 
And,  with  malice  prepense,  down  their  two  thousand  throttles 
Emptied  various — that  is  to  say,  ten  thousand — bottles ; 
All  in  breach  of  the  peace, — moved  by  Satan's  malignity — 
And  in  spite  of  King  James,  and  his  Crown,  and  his  Dignity." 

At  words  so  profound     Rob  gazes  around. 
But  no  glance  sympathetic  to  cheer  him  is  found. 

— No  glance,  did  I  say !     Yes,  one ! — Madge  Gray ! — 
She  is  there  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  standing  by, 
And  she  gives  him  one  glance  from  her  coal-black  eye. 
One  touch  to  his  hand,  and  one  word  to  his  ear 
(That's  a  line  which  I've  stolen  from  Sir  Walter,  I  fear), — 

While  nobody  near     Seems  to  see  her  or  hear ; 
As  his  worship  takes  up,  and  surveys  with  a  strict  eye. 
The  broom  now  produced  as  the  corpiis  delicti, 

Ere  his  fingers  can  clasp,     It  is  snatched  from  his  grasp, 
The  end  poked  in  his  chest  with  a  force  makes  him  gasp, 
And  despite  the  decorum  so  due  to  the  Quorum, 
His  worship's  upset,  and  so  too  is  his  jorum  ; 
And  Madge  is  astride  on  the  broomstick  before  'em, — 
"  Hocv^  Pocus  !  Quick,  Presto  /  and  Hey  Cockalorum  ! 
Mount,  mount  for  your  life,  Rob ! — Sir  Justice,  adieu ! — 
— Hey  up  the  chimney-pot !  hey  after  you !" 

Through  the  mystified  group. 

With  a  halloo  and  a  whoop, 
Madge  on  the  pommel,  and  Robin  en  croupe. 
The  pair  through  the  air  ride  as  if  in  a  chair, 
While  the  party  below  stand  mouth  open  and  stare  ; 
"  Clean  bumbaized"  and  amazed,  and  fixed,  all  the  room  stick. 
Oh !  what's  gone  with  Robin, — and  Madge, — and  the  broom- 
stick ? 


THE   WITCHES'   FROLIC.  139 

Ay,  "what's  gone"  indeed,  Ned?— of  what  befell 
Madge  Gray  and  the  broomstick,  I  never  heard  tell : 
But  Robin  was  found,  that  morn,  on  the  ground, 
In  yon  old  gray  Ruin  again,  safe  and  sound, 
Except  that  at  first  he  complained  much  of  thirst, 
And  a  shocking  bad  headache,  of  all  ills  the  worst, 
And  close  by  his  knee    A  flask  you  might  see, 
But  an  empty  one,  smelling  of  eau-de-vie. 

Rob  from  this  hour  is  an  altered  man ; 

He  runs  home  to  his  lodgings  as  fast  as  he  can, 

Sticks  to  his  trade.     Marries  Miss  Slade, 
Becomes  a  Teetotaller — that  is,  the  same 
As  Teetotallers  now,  one  in  all  but  the  name ; 
Grows  fond  of  Small-beer,  which  is  always  a  steady  sign. 
Never  drinks  spirits  except  as  a  medicine ; 

Learns  to  despise    Coal-black  eyes, 
Minds  pretty  girls  no  more  than  so  many  Guys ; 
Has  a  family,  lives  to  be  sixty,  and  dies ! 

Now,  my  little  boy  Ned,    Brush  oflE*  to  your  bed. 
Tie  your  nightcap  on  safe,  or  a  napkin  instead. 
Or  these  terrible  nights  you'll  catch  cold  in  your  head. 
And  remember  my  tale,  and  the  moral  it  teaches. 
Which  you'll  find  much  the  same  as  what  Solomon  preaches : 
Don't  flirt  with  young  ladies ;  don't  practice  soft  speeches ; 
Avoid  waltzes,  quadrilles,  pumps,  silk  hose,  and  knee-breeches ; — 
Frequent  not  gray  Ruins, — shun  riot  and  revelry. 
Hocus  Pocus,  and  Conjuring,  and  all  sorts  of  devilry ; — 
Don't  meddle  with  broomsticks, — they're  Beelzebub's  switches. 
Of  cellars  keep  clear, — they're  the  devil's  own  ditches ; 
And  beware  of  balls,  banquetings,  brandy,  and — witches ; 
Above  all,  don't  run  after  black  eyes ! — if  you  do, — 
Depend  on't  you'll  find  what  I  say  will  come  true, — 
Old  Nick,  some  fine  morning,  will  "  hey  after  you !" 


140  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

Strange  as  the  events  detailed  in  the  succeeding  narrative 
may  appear,  they  are,  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt,  true  to 
the  letter.  Whatever  impression  they  make  upon  the  reader, 
that  produced  by  them  on  the  narrator,  I  can  aver,  was  neither 
light  nor  transient. 

SINGULAE  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 

STije  late  ?^enrg  f^arriiS,  lioctot  'm  Bibinitg, 

AS   RELATED   BY   THE   REV.   JASPER   INGOLDSBY,   M.A., 
HIS   FRIEND   AND   EXECUTOR. 

IN  order  that  the  extraordinary  circumstance  which  I  am 
about  to  relate  may  meet  with  the  credit  it  deserves,  I 
think  it  necessary  to  premise  that  my  reverend  friend,  among 
whose  papers  I  find  it  recorded,  was,  in  his  lifetime,  ever 
esteemed  as  a  man  of  good  plain  understanding,  strict  veracity, 
and  unimpeached  morals, — by  no  means  of  a  nervous  tempera- 
ment, or  one  likely  to  attach  undue  weight  to  any  occurrence 
out  of  the  common  course  of  events  merely  because  his  reflec- 
tions might  not,  at  the  moment,  afibrd  him  a  ready  solution  of 
its  difficulties. 

On  the  truth  of  his  narrative,  as  far  as  he  was  personally 
concerned,  no  one  who  knew  him  would  hesitate  to  place  the 
most  implicit  reliance.  His  history  is  briefly  this : — He  had 
married  early  in  life,  and  was  a  widower  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
nine,  with  an  only  daughter,  who  had  then  arrived  at  puberty, 
and  was  just  married  to  a  near  connection  of  our  own  family. 
The  sudden  death  of  her  husband,  occasioned  by  a  fall  from 
his  horse,  only  three  days  after  her  confinement,  was  abruptly 

communicated  to  Mrs.  S by  a  thoughtless  girl,  who  saw 

her  master  brought  lifeless  into  the  house,  and,  with  all  that  in- 
explicable anxiety  to  be  the  first  to  tell  bad  news,  so  common 
among  the  lower  orders,  rushed  at  once  into  the  sick-room  with 
her  intelligence.  The  shock  was  too  severe;  and  though  the 
young  widow  survived  the  fatal  event  several  mouths,  yet  she 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  141 

gradually  sank  under  the  blow,  and  expired,  leaving  a  boy,  not 
a  twelvemonth  old,  to  the  care  of  his  maternal  grandlatlier. 

My  poor  friend  was  sadly  shaken  by  this  melancholy  catas- 
trophe ;  time,  however,  and  a  strong  religious  feeling,  succeeded 
at  length  in  moderating  the  poignancy  of  his  grief — a  consum- 
mation much  advanced  by  his  infant  charge,  who  now  succeeded, 
as  it  were  by  inheritance^  to  the  place  in  his  affections  left  va- 
cant by  his  daughter's  decease.    Frederick  S grew  up  to  be 

a  fine  lad ;  his  person  and  features  were  decidedly  handsome ; 
still  there  was,  as  I  remember,  an  unpleasant  expression  in  his 
countenance,  and  an  air  of  reserve,  attributed,  by  the  few  per- 
sons who  called  occasionally  at  the  vicarage,  to  the  retired  life 
led  by  his  grandfather,  and  the  little  opportunity  he  had,  in 
consequence,  of  mixing  in  the  society  of  his  equals  in  age  and 
intellect.  Brought  up  entirely  at  home,  his  progress  in  the 
common  branches  of  education  was,  without  any  great  disj^lay 
of  precocity,  rather  in  advance  of  the  generality  of  boys  of  his 
own  standing ;  partly  owing,  perhaps,  to  the  turn  which  even 
his  amusements  took  from  the  first.  His  sole  associate  was  the 
son  of  the  village  apothecary,  a  boy  about  two  years  older 
than  himself,  whose  father,  being  really  clever  in  his  profession, 
and  a  good  operative  chemist,  had  constructed  for  himself  a 
small  laboratory,  in  which,  as  he  was  fond  of  children,  the  two 
boys  spent  a  great  portion  of  their  leisure  time,  witnessing 
many  of  those  little  experiments  so  attractive  to  youth,  and  in 
time  aspiring  to  imitate  what  they  admired. 

In  such  society,  it  is  not  surprising  that  Frederick  S 

should  imbibe  a  strong  taste  for  the  sciences  which  formed  his 
j^rincipal  amusement ;  or  that  when,  in  process  of  time,  it  be- 
came necessary  to  choose  his  walk  in  life,  a  profession  so  inti- 
mately connected  with  his  favorite  pursuit,  as  that  of  medicine, 
should  be  eagerly  selected.  No  opposition  was  ofiered  by  my 
friend,  who,  knowing  that  the  greater  part  of  his  own  income 
would  expire  with  his  life,  and  that  the  remainder  would  prove 
an  insufficient  resource  to  his  grandchild,  was  only  anxious  that 
he  should  follow  such  a  path  as  would  secure  him  that  moder- 
ate and  respectable  competency  which  is,  perhaps,  more  condu- 
cive to  real  happiness  than  a  more  elevated  or  wealthy  station. 
Frederick  was,  accordingly,  at  the  proper  age,  matriculated  at 


142  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 

Oxford,  with  the  view  of  studying  the  higher  branches  of  medi- 
cine, a  few  months  after  his  friend,  John  W ,  had  proceeded 

to  Leyden,  for  the  purpose  of  making  himself  acquainted  with 
the  practice  of  surgery  in  the  hospitals  and  lectuxe-rooms 
attached  to  that  university.  The  boyish  intimacy  of  their 
younger  days  did  not,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  yield  to  separa- 
tion ;  on  the  contrary,  a  close  correspondence  was  kept  up 
between  them.  Dr.  Harris  was  even  prevailed  upon  to  allow 
Frederick  to  take  a  trip  to  Holland  to  see  his  friend ;  and  John 
returned  the  visit  to  Frederick  at  Oxford. 

Satisfactory  as,  for  some  time,  were  the  accounts  of  the  gene- 
ral course  of  Frederick  S 's  studies,  by  degrees  rumors  of  a 

less  pleasant  nature  reached  the  ears  of  some  of  his  friends ;  to 
the  vicarage,  however,  I  have  reason  to  believe  they  never  pen- 
etrated. The  good  old  Doctor  was  too  well  beloved  in  his  parish 
for  any  one  voluntarily  to  give  ,him  pain  ;  and,  after  all,  noth- 
ing beyond  whispers  and  surmises  had  reached  X ,  when  the 

worthy  vicar  was  surprised  on  a  sudden  by  a  request  from  his 
grandchild  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  take  his  name  off  the 
books  of  the  university,  and  proceed  to  finish  his  education  in 
conjunction  with  his  friend  W at  Leyden.  Such  a  pro- 
posal, made,  too,  at  a  time  when  the  period  for  his  graduat- 
ing could  not  be  far  distant,  both  surprised  and  grieved  the 
Doctor ;  he  combated  the  design  with  more  perseverance  than 
he  had  ever  been  known  to  exert  in  opposition  to  any  declared 
wish  of  his  darling  boy  before,  but,  as  usual,  gave  way  when 
more  strongly  pressed,  from  sheer  inability  to  persist  in  a  re- 
fusal which  seemed  to  give  so  much  pain  to  Frederick,  espe- 
cially when  the  latter,  with  more  energy  than  was  quite  becom- 
ing their  relative  situations,  expressed  his  positive  determinatipn 
of  not  returning  to  Oxford,  whatever  might  be  the  result  of  his 
grandfather's  decision.  My  friend,  his  mind,  perhaps,  a  little 
weakened  by  a  short  but  severe  nervous  attack  from  which  he 
had  scarcely  recovered,  at  length  yielded  a  reluctant  consent, 
and  Frederick  quitted  England. 

It  was  not  till  some  months  had  .elapsed  after  his  departure 
that  I  had  reason  to  suspect  that  the  eager  desire  of  availing 
himself  of  opportunities  for  study  abroad,  not  afforded  him  at 
home,  was  not  the  sole,  or  even  the  principal,  reason  which  had 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,   D.D.  143 

drawn  Frederick  so  abruptly  from  his  Alma  Mater.  A  chance 
visit  to  the  university,  and  a  conversation  with  a  senior  fellow 
belonging  to  his  late  college,  convinced  me  of  this ;  still  I  found 
it  impossible  to  extract  from  the  latter  the  precise  nature  of  his 
offence.  That  he  had  given  way  to  most  culpable  indulgences 
I  had  before  heard  hinted ;  and  when  I  recollected  how  he  had 
been  at  once  launched,  from  a  state  of  what  might  be  well 
called  seclusion,  into  a  world  where  so  many  enticements  were 
lying  in  wait  to  allure — with  liberty,  example,  everything  to 
tempt  him  from  the  straight  road — regret,  I  frankly  own,  was 
more  the  predominant  feeling  in  my  mind  than  either  surprise 
or  condemnation.  But  here  was  evidently  something  more 
than  mere  ordinary  excess — some  act  of  profligacy,  perhaps  of 
a  deeper  stain,  which  had  induced  his  superiors,  who,  at  first, 
had  been  loud  in  his  praises,  to  desire  him  to  withdraw  himself 
quietly,  but  for  ever ;  and  such  an  intimation,  I  found,  had, 
in  fact,  been  conveyed  to  him  from  an  authority  which  it  was 
impossible  to  resist.  Seeing  that  my  informant  was  determined 
not  to  be  explicit,  I  did  not  press  for  a  disclosure,  which,  if 
made,  would,  in  all  probability,  only  have  given  me  pain,  and 
that  the  rather  as  my  old  friend  the  Doctor  had  recently  ob- 
tained a  valuable  living  from  Lord  M ,  only  a  few  miles 

distant  from  the  market  town  in  which  I  resided,  where  he  now 
was,  amusing  himself  in  putting  his  grounds  into  order,  orna- 
menting his  house,  and  getting  everything  ready  against  his 
grandson's  expected  visit  in  the  following  autumn.  October 
came,  and  with  it  came  Frederick :  he  rode  over  more  than 
once  to  see  me,  sometimes  accompanied  by  the  Doctor,  between 
whom  and  myself  the  recent  loss  of  my  poor  daughter  Louisa 
had  drawn  the  cords  of  sympathy  still  closer. 

More  than  two  years  had  flown  on  in  this  way,  in  which 

Frederick  S had  as  many  times  made  temporary  visits  to 

his  native  country.  The  time  was  fast  approaching  when  he 
was  expected  to  return  and  finally  take  up  his  residence  in 
England,  when  the  sudden  illness  of  my  wife's  father  obliged 
us  to  take  a  journey  into  Lancashire,  my  old  friend,  who  had 
himself  a  curate,  kindly  oflTering  to  fix  his  quarters  at  my  par- 
sonage, and  superintend  the  concerns  of  my  parish  till  my  re- 
turn.   Alas !  when  I  saw  him  next  he  was  on  the  bed  of  death ! 


144  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

My  absence  was  necessarily  prolonged  much  beyond  what  I 
had  anticipated.  A  letter,  with  a  foreign  post-mark,  had,  as  I 
afterwards  found,  been  brought  over  from  his  own  house  to  my 
venerable  substitute  in  the  interval,  and,  barely  giving  himself 
time  to  transfer  the  charge  he  had  undertaken  to  a  neighboring 
clergyman,  he  had  hurried  off  at  once  to  Leyden.  His  arrival 
there  was,  however,  too  late.  Frederick  was  dead  ! — killed  in 
a  duel,  occasioned,  it  was  said,  by  no  ordinary  provocation  on 
his  part,  although  the  flight  of  his  antagonist  had  added  to  the 
mystery  which  enveloped  its  origin.  The  long  journey,  its  mel- 
ancholy termination,  and  the  complete  overthrow  of  all  my 
poor  friend's  earthly  hopes,  were  too  much  for  him.  He  ap- 
peared too — as  I  was  informed  by  the  proprietor  of  the  house 
in  which  I  found  him,  when  his  summons  at  length  had  brought 
me  to  his  bedside — to  have  received  some  sudden  and  unac- 
countable shock,  which  even  the  death  of  his  grandson  was 
inadequate  to  explain.  There  was,  indeed,  a  wildness  in  his 
fast-glazing  eye,  which  mingled  strangely  with  the  glance  of 
satisfaction  thrown  upon  me  as  he  pressed  my  hand ;  he  endeav- 
ored to  raise  himself,  and  would  have  spoken,  but  fell  back  in 
the  effort,  and  closed  his  eyes  for  ever.  I  buried  him  there,  by 
the  side  of  the  object  of  his  more  than  parental  affection — in  a 
foreign  land. 

It  is  from  the  papers  that  I  discovered  in  his  travelling-case 
that  I  submit  the  following  extracts,  without,  however,  presum- 
ing to  advance  an  opinion  on  the  strange  circumstances  which 
they  detail,  or  even  as  to  the  connection  which  some  may  fancy 
they  discover  between  different  parts  of  them. 

The  first  was  evidently  written  at  my  own  house,  and  bears 
date  August  the  15th,  18 — ,  about  three  weeks  after  my  own 
departure  for  Preston. 

It  begins  thus : — 

"  Tuesday,  August  15. — Poor  girl ! — I  forget  who  it  is  that 
says,  '  The  real  ills  of  life  are  light  in  comparison  with  fancied 
evils ;'  and  certainly  the  scene  I  have  just  witnessed  goes  some 
way  towards  establishing  the  truth  of  the  hypothesis.  Among 
the  afllictions  which  flesh  is  heir  to,  a  diseased  imagination  is 
far  from  being  the  lightest,  even  when  considered  separately, 
and  without  taking  into  the  account  those  bodily  pains  and 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  145 

sufferings  which — so  close  is  the  conuectiou  between  mind  and 
matter — are  but  too  frequently  attendant  upon  any  disorder  of 
the  fancy.  Seldom  has  my  interest  been  more  powerfully  ex- 
cited than  by  poor  Mary  Graham.  Her  age,  her  appearance, 
her  pale,  melancholy  features,  the  very  contour  of  her  counte- 
nance, all  conspire  to  remind  me,  but  too  forcibly,  of  one  who, 
Avaking  or  sleeping,  is  never  long  absent  from  my  thoughts. 
But  enough  of  this. 

"  A  fine  morning  had  succeeded  one  of  the  most  tempestuous 
nights  I  ever  remember,  and  I  was  just  sitting  down  to  a  sub- 
stantial breakfast,  which  the  care  of  my  friend  Ingoldsby's 
housekeeper,  kind-hearted  Mrs.  Wilson,  had  prepared  for  me, 
when  I  was  interrupted  by  a  summons  to  the  sick-bed  of  a  young 
parishioner  whom  I  had  frequently  seen  in  my  walks,  and  had 
remarked  for  the  regularity  of  her  attendance  at  divine  worship. 
Mary  Graham  is  the  elder  of  two  daughters,  residing  with  their 
mother,  the  widow  of  an  attorney,  who,  dying  suddenly  in  the 
prime  of  life,  left  his  family  but  slenderly  provided  for.  A 
strict  though  not  parsimonious  economy  has,  however,  enabled 
them  to  live  with  an  appearance  of  respectability  and  comfort  ; 
and  from  the  personal  attractions  which  both  the  girls  possess, 
their  mother  is  evidently  not  without  hopes  of  seeing  one,  at 
least,  of  them  advantageously  settled  in  life.  As  far  as  poor 
Mary  is  concerned,  I  fear  she  is  doomed  to  inevitable  disappoint- 
ment, as  I  am  much  mistaken  if  consumption  has  not  laid  its 
wasting  finger  upon  her ;  while  this  last  recurrence,  of  what  I 
cannot  but  believe  to  be  a  formidable  epileptic  attack,  threatens 
to  shake  out,  with  even  added  velocity,  the  little  sand  that  may 
yet  remain  within  the  .hour-glass  of  time.  Her  very  delusion, 
too,  is  of  such  a  nature  as,  by  adding  to  bodily  illness  the  agita- 
tion of  superstitious  terror,  can  scarcely  fail  to  accelerate  the 
catastrophe,  which  I  think  I  see  fast  approaching. 

"  Before  I  was  introduced  into  the  sick-room,  her  sister,  who 
had  been  watching  my  arrival  from  the  window,  took  me  into 
their  little  parlor,  and,  after  the  usual  civilities,  began  to  pre- 
pare me  for  the  visit  I  was  about  to  pay.  Her  countenance  was 
marked  at  once  with  trouble  and  alarm,  and  in  a  low  tone  of 
voice,  which  some  internal  emotion,  rather  than  the  fear  of  dis- 
turbing the  invalid  in  a  distant  room,  Had  subdued  almost  to  a 
10 


146  SINGULAR   PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

wliisper,  informed  me  that  my  presence  was  become  necessary, 
not  more  as  a  clergyman  tliau  a  magistrate ;  that  the  disorder 
with  which  her  sister  had,  during  the  night,  been  so  suddenly 
and  unaccountably  seized,  was  one  of  no  common  kind,  but 
attended  with  circumstances  which,  coupled  with  the  declara- 
tions of  the  sufferer,  took  it  out  of  all  ordinary  calculations,  and, 
to  use  her  own  expression,  that  *  malice  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.' 

"  Naturally  supposing  that  these  insinuations  were  intended 
to  intimate  the  partaking  of  some  deleterious  substance  on  the 
part  of  the  invalid,  I  inquired  what  reason  she  had  for  imagin- 
ing, in  the  first  place,  that  anything  of  a  poisonous  nature  bad 
been  administered  at  all ;  and,  secondly,  what  possible  incite- 
ment any  human  being  could  have  for  the  perpetration  of  so 
foul  a  deed  towards  so  innocent  and  unofiending  an  individual. 
Her  answer  considerably  relieved  the  apprehensions  I  had  begun 
to  entertain  lest  the  poor  girl  should,  from  some  unknown  cause, 
have  herself  been  attempting  to  rush  uncalled  into  the  presence 
of  her  Creator  ;  at  the  same  time,  it  surprised  me  not  a  little  by 
its  apparent  want  of  rationality  and  common  sense.  She  had 
no  reason  to  believe,  she  said,  that  her  sister  had  taken  poison, 
or  that  any  attempt  upon  her  life  had  been  made,  or  was,  per- 
haps, contemplated,  but  that  'still  malice  was  at  work — the 
malice  of  villains  or  fiends,  or  of  both  combined  ;  that  no  causes 
purely  natural  would  suffice  to  account  for  the  state  in  which 
her  sister  had  been  now  twice  placed,  or  for  the  dreadful  suffer- 
ings she  had  undergone  while  in  that  state ;'  and  that  she  was 
determined  the  whole  affair  should  undergo  a  thorough  investi- 
gation. Seeing  that  the  poor  girl  was  now  herself  laboring 
under  at  great  degree  of  excitement,  I  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  enter  at  that  moment  into  a  discussion  upon  the  absurdity  of 
her  opinion,  but  applied  myself  to  the  tranquillizing  of  her 
mind  by  assurances  of  a  proper  inquiry,  and  then  drew  her 
attention  to  the  symptoms  of  the  indisposition,  and  the  way  in 
which  it  had  first  made  its  appearance. 

"  The  violence  of  the  storm  last  night  had,  I  found,  induced 
the  whole  family  to  sit  up  far  beyond  their  usual  hour,  till, 
wearied  out  at  length,  and,  as  their  mother  observed,  '  tired  of 
burning  fire  and  candle  to  no  purpose,'  they  repaired  to  their 
several  chambers. 


THE  LATE   HENRY  HARRIS,   J).D.  147 

"  The  sisters  occupied  the  same  room  ;  Elizabeth  was  already 
at  her  humble  toilet,  and  had  commenced  the  arrangement  of 
her  hair  for  the  night,  when  her  attention  was  at  once  drawn 
from  her  employment  by  a  half-smothered  shriek  and  exclama- 
tion from  her  sister,  who,  in  her  delicate  state  of  health,  had 
found  walking  up  two  flights  of  stairs,  perhaps  a  little  more 
quickly  than  usual,  an  exertion,  to  recover  from  which  she  had 
seated  herself  in  a  large  arm-chair. 

"  Turning  hastily  at  the  sound,  she  perceived  Mary  deadly 
pale,  grasjiiug,  as  it  were  convulsively,  each  arm  of  the  chair 
which  supported  her,  and  bending  forward  in  the  attitude  of 
listening ;  her  lips  were  trembling  and  bloodless,  cold  drops  of 
perspiration  stood  upon  her  forehead,  and  in  an  instant  after, 
exclaiming  in  a  piercing  tone,  'Hark!  they  are  calling  me 
again!  it  is — it  is  the  same  voice; — Oh  no,  no! — Oh  my  God! 
save  me,  Betsy — hold  me — save  me !'  she  fell  forward  upon  the 
floor.  Elizabeth  flew  to  her  assistance,  raised  her,  and  by  her 
cries  brought  both  her  mother,  who  had  not  yet  got  into  bed,  and 
their  only  servant-girl,  to  her  aid.  The  latter  was  despatched 
at  once  for  medical  help ;  but,  from  the  appearance  of  the  suf- 
ferer, it  was  much  to  be  feared  that  she  would  soon  be  beyond 
the  reach  of  art.  Her  agonized  parent  and  sister  succeeded  in 
bearing  her  between  them  and  placing  her  on  a  bed :  a  faint  and 
intermittent  pulsation  was  for  a  while  perceptible ;  but  in  a  few 
moments  a  general  shudder  shook  the  whole  body ;  the  pulse 
ceased,  the  eyes  became  fixed  and  glassy,  the  jaw  dropped,  a 
cold  clamminess  usurped  the  place  of  the  genial  warmth  of  life. 

Before  Mr.  I arrived  everything  announced  that  dissolution 

had  taken  place,  and  that  the  freed  spirit  had  quitted  Its  mortal 
tenement. 

"  The  appearance  of  the  surgeon  confirmed  their  worst  appre- 
hensions ;  a  vein  was  opened,  but  the  blood  refused  to  flow,  and 
Mr.  I pronounced  that  the  vital  spark  was  indeed  extin- 
guished. 

"The  poor  mother,  whose  attachment  to  her  children  was 
perhaps  the  more  powerful  as  they  were  the  sole  relatives  or 
connections  she  had  in  the  world,  was  overwhelmed  with  a 
grief  amounting  almost  to  frenzy.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 
she  was  removed  to  her  own  room  by  the  united  strength  of 


148  SINGULAR   PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

her  daughter  and  medical  adviser.  Nearly  an  hour  had 
elapsed  during  the  endeavor  at  calming  her  transports ;  they 

had  succeeded,  however,  to  a  certain  extent,  and  Mr.  I 

had  taken  his  leave,  when  Elizabeth,  re-entering  the  bed- 
chamber in  which  her  sister  lay,  in  order  to  pay  the  last  sad 
duties  to  her  corpse,  was  horror-struck  at  seeing  a  crimson 
stream  of  blood  running  down  the  side  of  the  counterpane  to 
the  floor.  Her  exclamation  brought  the  girl  again  to  her  side, 
when  it  was  perceived,  to  their  astonishment,  that  the  sanguine 
stream  proceeded  from  the  arm  of  the  body,  which  was  now 
manifesting  signs  of  returning  life.  The  half- frantic  mother 
flew  to  the  room,  and  it  W'as  with  difficulty  that  they  could  pre- 
vent her,  in  her  agitation,  from  so  acting  as  to  extinguish  for 
ever  the  hope  which  had  begun  to  rise  in  their  bosoms.  A 
long-drawn  sigh,  amounting  almost  to  a  groan,  followed  by 
several  convulsive  gaspings,  was  the  prelude  to  the  restoration 
of  the  animal  functions  in  poor  Mary  :  a  shriek,  almost  preter- 
naturally  loud  considering  her  state  of  exhaustion,  succeeded ; 
but  she  did  recover,  and,  with  the  help  of  restoratives,  was  well 
enough  towards  morning  to  express  a  strong  desire  that  I 
should  be  sent  for — a  desire  the  more  readily  complied  with 
inasmuch  as  the  strange  expressions  and  declarations  she  had 
made  since  her  restoration  to  consciousness  had  filled  her  sister 
■with  the  most  horrible  suspicions.  The  nature  of  these  sus- 
picions was  such  as  would  at  any  other  time,  perhaps,  have 
raised  a  smile  upon  my  lips ;  but  the  distress  and  even  agony 
of  the  poor  girl  as  she  half  hinted  and  half  expressed  them 
were  such  as  entirely  to  preclude  every  sensation  at  all  ap- 
proaching to  mirth.  Without  endeavoring,  therefore,  to  com- 
bat ideas  evidently  too  strongly  impressed  upon  her  mind  at 
the  moment  to  admit  of  present  refutation,  I  merely  used  a  few 
encouraging  words,  and  requested  her  to  precede  me  to  the  sick- 
chamber. 

"  The  invalid  was  lying  on  the  outside  of  the  bed,  partly 
dressed,  and  wearing  a  white  dimity  wrapping-gown,  the  color 
of  which  corresponded  but  too  well  with  the  deadly  paleness  of 
her  complexion.  Her  cheek  was  wan  and  sunken,  giving  an 
extraordinary  prominence  to  »her  eye,  which  gleamed  with  a 
lustrous  brilliancy  not  unfrequently  characteristic  of  the  aber- 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  149 

ration  of  intellect.  I  took  her  hand :  it  was  chill  and  clammy, 
the  pulse  feeble  and  intermittent,  and  the  general  debility  of 
her  frame  was  such  that  I  would  fain  have  persuaded  her  to 
dfefer  any  conversation  which,  in  her  present  state,  she  might 
not  be  equal  to  support.  Her  positive  assurance  that,  until 
she  had  disburdened  herself  of  what  she  called  her  '  dreadful 
secret,'  she  could  know  no  rest  either  of  mind  or  body,  at 
length  induced  me  to  comply  with  her  wish,  opposition  to 
which,  in  her  then  frame  of  mind,  might  perhaps  be  attended 
with  even  worse  effects  than  its  indulgence.  I  bowed  acquies- 
cence, and  in  a  low  and  faltering  voice,  with  frequent  interrup- 
tions occasioned  by  her  weakness,  she  gave  me  the  following 
singular  account  of  the  sensations  which,  she  averred,  had  been 
experienced  by  her  during  her  trance : — 

"  *  This,  sir,'  she  began,  '  is  not  the  first  time  that  the  cruelty 
of  others  has,  for  what  purpose  I  am  unable  to  conjecture,  put 
me  to  a  degree  of  torture  which  I  can  compare  to  no  suffering, 
either  of  body  or  mind,  which  I  have  ever  before  experienced. 
On  a  former  occasion  I  was  Avilling  to  believe  it  the  mere  efiect 
of  a  hideous  dream,  or  what  is  vulgarly  termed  the  nightmare ; 
but  this  repetition,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  I  was 
last  summoned, — at  a  time,  too,  when  I  had  not  even  composed 
myself  to  rest, — fatally  convince  me  of  the  reality  of  what  I 
have  seen  and  suffered. 

"  *  This  is  no  time  for  concealment  of  any  kind.  It  is  now 
more  than  a  twelvemonth  since  I  was  in  the  habit  of  occasion- 
ally encountering  in  my  walks  a  young  man  of  prepossessing 
appearance  and  gentlemanly  deportment.  He  was  always 
alone,  and  generally  reading ;  but  I  could  not  be  long  in  doubt 
that  these  rencounters,  which  became  every  week  more  fre- 
quent, were  not  the  effect  of  accident,  or  that  his  attention, 
when  we  did  meet,  was  less  directed  to  his  book  than  to  my 
sister  and  myself.  He  even  seemed  to  wish  to  address  us,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  would  have  taken  some  other  opportunity  of 
doing  so  had  not  one  been  afforded  him  by  a  strange  dog 
attacking  us  one  Sunday  morning  in  our  way  to  church,  which 
he  beat  off,  and  made  use  of  this  little  service  to  promote  an 
acquaintance.  His  name,  he  said,  was  Francis  Somers,  and 
added  that  he  was  on  a  visit  to  a  relation  of  the  same  name, 


150  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

resident  a  few  miles  from  X .     He  gave  us  to  understand 

that  he  was  himself  studying  surgery  with  the  view  to  a  med- 
ical appointment  in  one  of  the  colonies.  You  are  not  to  sup- 
pose, sir,  that  he  had  entered  thus  into  his  concerns  at  the  first 
interview ;  it  was  not  till  our  acquaintance  had  ripened,  and  he 
had  visited  our  house  more  than  once  with  my  mother's  sanc- 
tion, that  these  particulars  were  elicited.  He  never  disguised, 
from  the  first,  that  an  attachment  to  myself  was  his  object  orig- 
inally in  introducing  himself  to  our  notice.  As  his  prospects 
were  comparatively  flattering,  my  mother  did  not  raise  any 
impediment  to  his  attentions,  and  I  own  I  received  them  with 
pleasure. 

" '  Days  and  weeks  elapsed ;  and  although  the  distance  at 
which  his  relation  resided  prevented  the  possibility  of  an  unin- 
terrupted intercourse,  yet  neither  was  it  so  great  as  to  preclude 
his  frequent  visits.  The  interval  of  a  day,  or  at  most  of  two, 
was  all  that  intervened ;  and  these  temporary  absences  cer- 
tainly did  not  decrease  the  pleasure  of  the  meetings  which  they 
terminated.  At  length  a  pensive  expression  began  to  exhibit 
itself  upon  his  countenance,  and  I  could  not  but  remark  that  at 
every  visit  he  became  more  abstracted  and  reserved.  The  eye 
of  affection  is  not  slow  to  detect  any  symptom  of  uneasiness  in 
a  quarter  dear  to  it.  I  spoke  to  him,  questioned  him,  on  the 
subject ;  his  answer  was  evasive,  and  I  said  no  more.  My 
mother  too,  however,  had  marked  the  same  appearance  of  mel- 
ancholy, and  pressed  him  more  strongly.  He  at  length  admit- 
ted that  his  spirits  were  depressed,  and  that  their  depression 
was  caused  by  the  necessity  of  an  early,  though  but  a  tem- 
porary, separation.  His  uncle,  and  only  friend,  he  said,  had 
long  insisted  on  his  spending  some  months  on  the  Continent, 
with  the  view  of  completing  his  professional  education,  and 
that  the  time  was  now  fast  approaching  when  it  would  be 
necessary  for  him  to  commence  his  journey.  A  look  made  the 
inquiry  which  my  tongue  refused  to  utter.  "  Yes,  dearest 
Mary,"  was  his  reply :  "  I  have  communicated  our  attachment 
to  him,  partially  at  least;  and  though  I  dare  not  say  that  the 
intimation  was  received  as  I  could  have  wished,  yet  I  have 
perhaps,  on  the  whole,  no  fair  reason  to  be  dissatisfied  with  his 
reply. 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  151 

"  * "  The  completion  of  my  studies,  and  my  settlement  in  the 
world,  must,  my  uncle  told  me,  be  the  first  consideration  ;  when 
these  material  points  were  achieved,  he  should  not  interfere 
with  any  arrangement  that  might  be  found  essential  to  my 
happiness ;  at  the  same  time  he  has  positively  refused  to  sanc- 
tion any  engagement  at  present,  which  may,  he  says,  have  a 
tendency  to  divert  my  attention  from  those  pursuits  on  the  due 
prosecution  of  which  my  future  situation  in  life  must  depend. 
A  comi^romise  between  love  and  duty  was  eventually  wrung 
from  me,  though  reluctantly  ;  I  have  pledged  myself  to  proceed 
immediately  to  my  destination  abroad,  with  a  full  understand- 
ing that  on  my  return,  a  twelvemonth  hence,  no  obstacle  shall 
be  thrown  in  the  way  of  what  are,  I  trust,  our  mutual  wishes." 

" '  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  feelings  with  which  I 
received  this  communication,  nor  will  it  be  necessary  to  say 
anything  of  what  passed  at  the  few  interviews  which  took  place 
before  Francis  quitted  X .  The  evening  immediately  pre- 
vious to  that  of  his  departure  he  passed  in  this  house,  and, 
before  we  separated,  renewed  his  protestations  of  an  unchange- 
able affection,  requiring  a  similar  assurance  from  me  in  return. 
I  did  not  hesitate  to  make  it.  "  Be  satisfied,  my  dear  Francis," 
said  I,  "  that  no  diminution  in  the  regard  I  have  avowed  can 
ever  take  place,  and  though  absent  in  body,  my  heart  and  soul 
will  still  be  with  you." — "  Swear  this,"  he  cried  with  a  sud- 
denness and  energy  which  surprised  and  rather  startled  me: 
"  promise  me  that  you  will  be  with  me  in  sjyirit,  at  least,  when 
I  am  far  away."  I  gave  him  my  hand,  but  that  was  not  suf- 
ficient. "  One  of  these  dark  shining  ringlets,  my  dear  Mary," 
said  he,  "  as  a  pledge  that  you  will  not  forget  your  vow  !"  I 
suffered  him  to  take  the  scissors  from  my  work-box  and  to  sever 
a  lock  of  my  hair,  which  he  placed  in  his  bosom.  The  next  day 
he  was  pursuing  his  journey,  and  the  waves  were  already  bear- 
ing him  from  England. 

" '  I  had  letters  from  him  repeatedly  during  the  first  three 
months  of  his  absence :  they  spoke  of  his  health,  his  prospects, 
and  of  his  love ;  but  by  degrees  the  intervals  between  each 
arrival  became  longer,  and  I  fancied  I  perceived  some  falling 
off  from  that  warmth  of  expression  which  had  at  first  charac- 
terized his  communications.    . 


152  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

" '  One  night  I  had  retired  to  rest  rather  later  than  usual, 
having  sat  by  the  bedside  comparing  his  hist  brief  note  with 
some  of  his  earlier  letters,  and  was  endeavoring  to  convince 
myself  that  my  apprehensions  of  his  fickleness  were  unfounded, 
when  an  undefinable  sensation  of  restlessness  and  anxiety  seized 
upon  me.  I  cannot  compare  it  to  anything  I  had  ever  experi- 
enced before  ;  my  pulse  fluttered,  my  heart  beat  with  a  quick- 
ness and  violence  which  alarmed  me,  and  a  strange  tremor 
shook  my  whole  frame.  I  retired  hastily  to  bed,  in  hopes  of 
getting  rid  of  so  unpleasant  a  sensation,  but  in  vain ;  a  vague 
apprehension  of  I  know  not  what  occupied  my  mind,  and 
vainly  (iid  I  endeavor  to  shake  it  off.  I  can  compare  my  feel- 
ings to  nothing  but  those  which  we  sometimes  experience  when 
about  to  undertake  a  long  and  unpleasant  journey,  leaving 
those  we  love  behind  us.  More  than  once  did  I  raise  myself 
in  my  bed  and  listen,  fancying  that  I  heard  myself  called ;  and 
on  each  of  these  occasions  the  fluttering  of  my  heart  increased. 
Twice  I  was  on  the  point  of  calling  to  my  sister,  who  then  slept 
in  an  adjoining  room ;  but  she  had  gone  to  bed  indisposed,  and 
an  unwillingness  to  disturb  either  her  or  my  mother  checked 
me.  The  large  clock  in  the  room  below  at  this  moment  began 
to  strike  the  hour  of  twelve ;  I  distinctly  heard  its  vibrations, 
but  ere  its  sounds  had  ceased  a  burning  heat,  as  if  a  hot  iron 
had  been  applied  to  my  temple,  was  succeeded  by  a  dizzinesss, — 
a  swoon, — a  total  loss  of  consciousness  as  to  where  or  in  what 
situation  I  was. 

"  'A  pain,  violent,  sharp,  and  piercing,  as  though  my  whole 
frame  were  lacerated  by  some  keen-edged  weapon,  roused  me 
from  this  stupor  ; — but  where  was  I  ?  Everything  was  strange 
around  me ;  a  shadowy  dimness  rendered  every  object  indistinct 
and  uncertain  ;  methought,  however,  that  I  was  seated  in  a  large 
antique  high-backed  chair,  several  of  which  were  near,  their 
tall  black  carved  frames  and  seats  interwoven  with  a  lattice- 
work of  cane.  The  apartment  in  which  I  sat  was  one  of  mod- 
erate dimensions,  and,  from  its  sloping  roof,  seemed  to  be  the 
upper  story  of  the  edifice,  a  fact  confirmed  by  the  moon  shining 
without,  in  full  efflilgence,  on  a  huge  round  tower,  which  its 
light  rendered  plainly  visible  through  the  open  casement,  and 
the  summit  of  which  appeared  but  little  superior  in  elevation 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.  153 

to  the  room  I  occupied.  Rather  to  the  right,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance, the  spire  of  some  cathedral  or  lofty  church  was  visible, 
while  sundry  gable  ends  and  tops  of  houses  told  me  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  populous  but  unknown  city. 

"  '  The  apartment  itself  had  something  strange  in  its  appear- 
ance ;  and,  in  the  character  of  its  furniture  and  appurtenances, 
bore  little  or  no  resemblance  to  any  I  had  ever  seen  before. 
The  fireplace  was  large  and  wide,  with  a  pair  of  what  are  some- 
times called  andirons,  betokening  that  wood  was  the  principal 
if  not  the  only  fuel  consumed  within  its  recess ;  a  fierce  fire  was 
now  blazing  in  it,  the  light  from  which  rendered  visible  the 
remotest  parts  of  the  chamber.  Over  a  lofty  old-fashioned 
mantlepiece,  carved  heavily  in  imitation  of  fruits  and  flowers, 
hung  the  half-length  portrait  of  a  gentleman  in  a  dark-colored 
foreign  habit,  with  a  peaked  beard  and  moustaches,  one  hand 
resting  upon  a  table,  the  other  supporting  a  sort  of  baton,  or 
short  military  staff,  the  summit  of  which  was  surmounted  by  a 
silver  falcon.  Several  antique  chairs,  similar  in  appearance  to 
those  already  mentioned,  surrounded  a  massive  oaken  table,  the 
length  of  which  much  exceeded  its  width.  At  the  lower  end 
^  of  this  piece  of  furniture  stood  the  chair  I  occupied ;  on  the 
upper  was  placed  a  small  chafing-dish  filled  with  burning  coals, 
and  darting  forth  occasionally  long  flashes  of  various-colored 
fire,  the  brilliance  of  which  made  itself  visible,  even  above  the 
strong  illumination  emitted  from  the  chimney.  Two  huge 
black  japanned  cabinets,  with  clawed  feet,  reflecting  from  their 
polished  surfaces  the  efililgence  of  the  flame,  were  placed  one 
on  each  side  the  casement-window  to  which  I  have  alluded, 
and  with  a  few  shelves  loaded  with  books,  many  of  which  were 
also  strewed  in  disorder  on  the  floor,  completed  the  list  of  the 
furniture  in  the  apartment.  Some  strange-looking  instru- 
ments, of  unknown  form  and  purpose,  lay  on  the  table  near 
the  chafing-dish,  on  the  other  side  of  which  a  miniature  por- 
trait of  myself  hung,  reflected  by  a  small  oval  mirror  in  a 
dark-colored  frame,  while  a  large  open  volume,  traced  with 
strange  characters  of  the  color  of  blood,  lay  in  front ;  a  goblet, 
containing  a  few  drops  of  liquid  of  the  same  ensanguined  hue, 
was  by  its  side. 

" '  But  of  the  objects  which  I  have  endeavored  to  describe, 


15-t  SINGULAR   PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

none  arrested  my  attention  so  forcibly  as  two  others.  These 
were  the  figures  of  two  young  men,  in  the  prime  of  life,  only 
separated  from  me  by  the  table.  They  were  dressed  alike,  each 
in  a  long  flowing  gown,  made  of  some  sad-colored  stuff,  and 
confined  at  the  waist  by  a  crimson  girdle;  one  of  them,  the 
shorter  of  the  two,  was  occupied  in  feeding  the  embers  of  the 
chafing-dish  with  a  resinous  powder,  which  produced  and  main- 
tained a  brilliant  but  flickering  blaze,  to  the  action  of  which 
his  companion  was  exposing  a  long  lock  of  dark  chestnut  hair, 
that  shrank  and  shrivelled  as  it  approached  the  flame.  But, 
O  God ! — that  hair  ! — and  the  form  of  him  who  held  it !  that 
face !  those  features ! — not  for  one  instant  could  I  entertain  a 
doubt — it  was  He!  Francis! — the  lock  he  grasped  was  mine, 
the  very  pledge  of  afiection  I  had  given  him,  and  still,  as  it 
partially  encountered  the  fire,  a  burning  heat  seemed  to  scorch 
the  temple  from  which  it  had  been  taken,  conveying  a  torturing 
sensation  that  affected  my  very  brain. 

" '  How  shall  I  proceed  ? — but  no,  it  is  impossible, — not  even 
to  you,  sir,  can  I — dare  I — recount  the  proceedings  of  that  un- 
hallowed night  of  horror  and  of  shame.  Were  my  life  extended 
to  a  term  commensurate  with  that  of  the  Patriarchs  of  old,^ 
never  could  its  detestable,  its  damning  pollutions  be  effliced 
from  my  remembrance ;  and  oh !  above  all,  never  could  I  forget 
the  diabolical  glee  which  sparkled  in  the  eyes  of  my  fiendish 
tormentors,  as  they  witnessed  the  worse  than  useless  struggles 
of  their  miserable  victim.  Oh !  why  was  it  not  permitted  me 
to  take  refuge  in  unconsciousness,  nay,  in  death  itself,  from  the 
abominations  of  which  I  was  compelled  to  be,  not  only  a  wit- 
ness, but  a  partaker  ?  But  it  is  enough,  sir ;  I  will  not  further 
shock  your  nature  by  dwelling  longer  on  the  scene,  the  full 
horrors  of  which  words,  if  I  even  dared  employ  any,  would  be 
inadequate  to  express;  suffice  it  to  say  that  after  being  subjected 
to  it,  how  long  I  knew  not,  but  certainly  for  more  than  an  hour, 
a  noise  from  below  seemed  to  alarm  my  persecutors ;  a  pause 
ensued, — the  lights  were  extinguished, — and,  as  the  sound  of  a 
footstep  ascending  a  staircase  became  more  distinct,  my  forehead 
felt  again  the  excruciating  sensation  of  heat,  while  the  embers, 
kindling  into  a  momentary  flame,  betrayed  another  portion  of 
the  ringlet  consuming  in  the  blaze.     Fresh  agonies  succeeded. 


THE   LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,   D.D.  155 

not  less  severe,  and  of  a  similar  description  to  those  which  had 
seized  upon  me  at  first ;  oblivion  again  followed,  and  on  being 
at  length  restored  to  consciousness,  I  found  myself  as  you  see 
me  now,  faint  and  exhausted,  weakened  in  every  limb,  and 
every  fibre  quivering  with  agitation.  My  groans  soon  brought 
my  sister  to  my  aid ;  it  was  long  before  I  could  summon  resolu- 
tion to  confide,  even  to  her,  the  dreadful  secret,  and  when  I  had 
done  so,  her  strongest  efforts  were  not  wanting  to  persuade  me 
that  I  had  been  laboring  under  a  severe  attack  of  nightmare. 
I  ceased  to  argue,  but  I  w^as  not  convinced :  the  whole  scene 
was  then  too  present,  too  awfully  real,  to  permit  me  to  doubt 
the  character  of  the  transaction ;  and  if,  when  a  few  days  had 
elapsed,  the  hopelessness  of  imparting  to  others  the  conviction 
I  entertained  myself  produced  in  me  an  apparent  acquiescence 
with  their  opinion,  I  have  never  been  the  less  satisfied  that  no 
cause  reducible  to  the  known  laws  of  nature  occasioned  my 
sufferings  on  that  hellish  evening.  Whether  that  firm  belief 
might  have  eventually  yielded  to  time,  whether  I  might  at 
length  have  been  brought  to  consider  all  that  had  passed,  and 
the  circumstances  Avhich  I  could  never  cease  to  remember,  as  a 
mere  phantasm,  the  offspring  of  a  heated  imagination,  acting 
upon  an  enfeebled  body,  I  know  not — last  night,  however,  would 
in  any  case  have  dispelled  the  flattering  illusion — last  night — 
last  night  was  the  whole  horrible  scene  acted  over  again.  The 
place — the  actors — the  whole  infernal  apparatus  were  the  same ; 
— the  same  insults,  the  same  torments,  the  same  brutalities — all 
were  renewed,  save  that  the  period  of  my  agony  was  not  so  pro- 
longed. I  became  sensible  to  an  incision  in  my  arm,  though 
the  hand  that  made  it  was  not  visible  ;  at  the  same  moment  my 
persecutors  paused ;  they  were  manifestly  disconcerted,  and  the 
companion  of  him,  whose  name  shall  never  more  pass  my  lips, 
muttered  something  to  his  abettor  in  evident  agitation;  the 
formula  of  an  oath  of  horrible  import  w^as  dictated  to  me  in 
terms  fearfully  distinct.  I  refused  it  unhesitatingly ;  again  and 
again  was  it  proposed,  with  menaces  I  tremble  to  think  on — but 
I  refused;  the  same  sound  was  heard — interruption  was  evi- 
dently apprehended, — the  same  ceremony  was  hastily  repeated, 
and  I  again  found  myself  released,  lying  on  my  own  bed,  with 
my  mother  and  my  sister  weeping  over  me.     O  God !  O  CJod ! 


156  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

when  and  how  is  this  to  end  ? — When  will  my  spirit  be  left  in 
peace  ? — Where  or  with  whom  shall  I  find  refuge  ?' 

"  It  is  impossible  to  convey  any  adequate  idea  of  the  emotions 
with  which  this  unhaj^py  girl's  narrative  afiected  me.  It  must 
not  be  supposed  that  her  story  was  delivered  in  the  same  con- 
tinuous and  uninterrupted  strain  in  which  I  have  transcribed 
its  substance.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  not  without  frequent 
intervals,  of  longer  or  shorter  duration,  that  her  account  was 
brought  to  a  conclusion :  indeed,  many  passages  of  her  strange 
dream  were  not  without  the  greatest  difficulty  and  reluctance 
communicated  at  all.  My  task  was  no  easy  one ;  never,  in  the 
course  of  a  long  life  spent  in  the  active  duties  of  my  Christian 
calling, — never  had  I  been  summoned  to  such  a  conference 
before, 

"  To  the  half-avowed  and  palliated  confession  of  committed 
guilt  I  had  often  listened,  and  pointed  out  the  only  road  to 
secure  its  forgiveness.  I  had  succeeded  in  cheering  the  spirit 
of  despondency,  and  sometimes  even  in  calming  the  ravings  of 
despair ;  but  here  I  had  a  different  enemy  to  combat,  an  in- 
eradicable prejudice  to  encounter,  evidently  backed  by  no  com- 
mon share  of  superstition,  and  confirmed  by  the  mental  weak- 
ness attendant  upon  severe  bodily  pain.  To  argue  the  sufferer 
out  of  an  opinion  so  rooted  was  a  hopeless  attempt.  I  did, 
however,  essay  it ;  I  spoke  to  her  of  the  strong  and  mysterious 
connection  maintained  between  our  waking  images  and  those 
which  haunt  us  in  our  dreams,  and  more  especially  during  that 
morbid  oppression  commonly  called  nightmare.  I  was  even 
enabled  to  adduce  myself  as  a  strong  and  living  instance  of  the 
excess  to  which  fancy  sometimes  carries  her  freaks  on  those 
occasions ;  while,  by  an  odd  coincidence,  the  impression  made 
upon  my  own  mind,  which  I  adduced  as  an  example,  bore  no 
slight  resemblance  to  her  own.  I  stated  to  her  that  on  my 
recovery  from  the  fit  of  epilepsy  which  had  attacked  me  about 
two  years  since,  just  before  my  grandson  Frederick  left  Oxford, 
it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  I  could  persuade  myself  that  I 
had  not  visited  him,  during  the  interval,  in  his  rooms  at  Braze- 

nose,  and  even  conversed  with  himself  and  his  friend  W , 

seated  in  his  arm-chair,  and  gazing  through  the  window  full 
upon  the  statue  of  Cain,  as  it  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  quad- 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,   D.D.  157 

rangle.  I  told  her  of  the  pain  I  underwent  both  at  the  cora- 
meucement  and  termination  of  my  attack  ;  of  the  extreme 
lassitude  that  succeeded ;  but  my  efforts  were  all  in  vain :  she 
listened  to  me,  indeed,  with  an  interest  almost  breathless,  espe- 
cially when  I  informed  her  of  my  having  actually  experienced 
the  very  burning  sensation  in  the  brain  alluded  to,  no  doubt  a 
strong  attendant  symptom  of  this  peculiar  affection,  and  a  proof 
of  the  identity  of  the  complaint ;  but  I  could  plainly  perceive 
that  I  failed  entirely  in  shaking  the  rooted  opinion  which  pos- 
sessed her,  that  her  spirit  had,  by  some  nefarious  and  unhal- 
lowed means,  been  actually  subtracted  for  a  time  from  its 
earthly  tenement." 


The  next  extract  which  I  shall  give  from  my  old  friend's 
memoranda  is  dated  August  24th,  more  than  a  week  subsequent 
to  his  first  visit  at  Mrs.  Graham's.  He  appears,  from  his 
papers,  to  have  visited  the  poor  young  woman  more  than  once 
during  the  interval,  and  to  have  afforded  her  those  spiritual 
consolations  which  no  one  was  more  capable  of  communicating. 
His  patient,  for  so  in  a  religious  sense  she  may  well  be  termed, 
had  been  sinking  under  the  agitation  she  had  experienced  ;  and 
the  constant  dread  she  was  under  of  similar  sufferings  operated 
so  strongly  on  a  frame  already  enervated  that  life  at  length 
seemed  to  hang  only  by  a  thread.     His  papers  go  on  to  say — 

"  I  have  just  seen  poor  Mary  Graham, — I  fear  for  the  last 
time.  Nature  is  evidently  quite  worn  out ;  she  is  aware  that 
she  is  dying,  and  looks  forward  to  the  termination  of  her  exist- 
ence here,  not  only  with  resignation  but  with  joy.  It  is  clear 
that  her  dream,  or  what  she  persists  in  calling  her  '  subtraction,' 
has  much  to  do  with  this.  For  the  last  three  days  her  behavior 
has  been  altered ;  she  has  avoided  conversing  on  the  subject  of 
her  delusion,  and  seems  to  wish  that  I  should  consider  her  as  a 
convert  to  my  view  of  her  case.  This  may,  perhaps,  be  partly 
owing  to  the  flippancies  of  her  medical  attendant  upon  the  sub- 
ject, for  Mr.  I has,  somehow  or  other,  got  an  inkling  that 

she  has  been  much  agitated  by  a  dream,  and  thinks  to  laugh 
off  the  impression — in  my  opinion  injudiciously ;  but  though  a 


158  SINGULAR    PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIEE   OF 

skillful  and  a  kind-hearted,  he  is  a  young  man,  and  of  a  dis- 
position, perhaps,  rather  too  mercurial  for  the  chamber  of  a 
nervous  invalid.  Her  manner  has  since  been  much  more  re- 
served to  both  of  us :  in  my  case,  probably  because  she  suspects 
me  of  betraying  her  secret." 


"  August  26th. — Mary  Graham  is  yet  alive,  but  sinking  fast ; 
her  cordiality  towards  me  has  returned  since  her  sister  confessed 

yesterday  that  she  had  herself  told  Mr.  I that  his  patient's 

mind  '  had  been  affected  by  a  terrible  vision.'  I  am  evidently 
restored  to  her  confidence.  She  asked  me  this  morning,  with 
much  earnestness, '  What  I  believed  to  be  the  state  of  departed 
spirits  during  the  interval  between  dissolution  and  the  final 
day  of  account  ?  And  whether  I  thought  they  would  be  safe, 
in  another  world,  from  the  influence  of  wicked  persons  em- 
ploying an  agency  more  than  human?'  Poor  child!  One 
cannot  mistake  the  prevailing  bias  of  her  mind.     Poor  child !" 


"  August  27th. — It  is  nearly  over ;  she  is  sinking  rapidly,  but 
quietly  and  without  pain.  I  have  just  administered  to  her  the 
sacred  elements,  of  which  her  mother  partook.  Elizabeth 
declined  doing  the  same:  she  cannot,  she  says,  yet  bring 
herself  to  forgive  the  villain  who  has  destroyed  her  sister. 
It  is  singular  that  she,  a  young  woman  of  good  plain  sense 
in  ordinary  matters,  should  so  easily  adopt,  and  so  pert- 
inaciously retain,  a  superstition  so  puerile  and  ridiculous. 
This  must  be  matter  of  a  future  conversation  between  us ; 
at  present,  with  the  form  of  the  dying  girl  before  her  eyes, 
it  were  vain  to  argue  with  her.  The  mother,  I  find,  has 
written  to  young  Somers,  stating  the  dangerous  situation  of 
his  affianced  wife;  indignant,  as  she  justly  is,  at  his  long 
silence,  it  is  fortunate  that  she  has  no  knowledge  of  the  sus- 
picions entertained  by  her  daughter.  I  have  seen  her  letter ; 
it  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Francis  Somers,  in  the  Hogewoert,  at 


THE  LATE   HENRY  HARRIS,   D.D.  159 

Leydeu — a  fellow-student,  then,  of  Frederick's.      I   must   re- 
member to  inquire  if  he  is  acquainted  with  this  young  man." 


Mary  Graham,  it  appears,  died  the  same  night.  Before  her 
departure,  she  repeated  to  my  friend  the  singular  story  she 
had  before  told  him,  without  any  material  variation  from 
the  detail  she  had  formerly  given.  To  the  last  she  persisted 
in  believing  that  her  unworthy  lover  had  practiced  upon 
her  by  forbidden  arts.  She  once  more  described  the  apart- 
ment with  great  minuteness,  and  even  the  person  of  Francis's 
alleged  companion,  who  was,  she  said,  about  the  middle  height, 
hard-featured,  Avith  a  rather  remarkable  scar  upon  his  left 
cheek,  extending  in  a  transverse  direction  from  below  the 
eye  to  the  nose.  Several  pages  of  my  reverend  friend's  man- 
uscript are  filled  with  reflections  upon  this  extraordinary 
confession,  which,  joined  with  its  melancholy  termination, 
seems  to  have  produced  no  common  effect  upon  him.  He 
alludes  to  more  than  one  subsequent  discussion  with  the  sur- 
viving sister,  and  piques  himself  on  having  made  some  progress 
in  convincing  her  of  the  folly  of  her  theory  respecting  the 
origin  and  nature  of  the  illness  itself. 

His  memoranda  on  this  and  other  subjects  are  continued 
till  about  the  middle  of  September,  when  a  break  ensues, 
occasioned,  no  doubt,  by  the  unwelcome  news  of  his  grandson's 
dangerous  state,  which  induces  him  to  set  out  forthwith  for 
Holland.     His  arrival  at  Leydeu  was,  as  I  have  already  said, 

too  late.      Frederick  S had   expired   after  thirty  hours' 

intense  suffering,  from  a  wound  received  in  a  duel  with  a 
brother  student.  The  cause  of  quarrel  was  variously  related ; 
but,  according  to  his  landlord's  version,  it  had  originated  in 
some  silly  dispute  about  a  dream  of  his  antagonist's,  who  had 
been  the  challenger.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  account  given 
to  him,  as  he  said,  by  Frederick's  friend  and  fellow-lodger, 
W ,  who  had  acted  as  second  on  the  occasion,  thus  ac- 
quitting himself  of  an  obligation  of  the  same  kind  due  to  the 
deceased,  whose  services  he  had  put  in  requisition  about  a  year 


160  SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 

before  on  a  similar  occasion,  when  he  had  himself  been  severely 
wounded  in  the  face. 

From  the  same  authority  I  learned  that  my  poor  friend  was 
much  affected  on  finding  that  his  arrival  had  been  deferred  too 
long.  Every  attention  was  shown  him  by  the  proprietor  of 
the  house,  a  respectable  tradesman,  and  a  chamber  was  pre- 
pared for  his  accommodation;  the  books  and  few  effects  of 
his  deceased  grandson  were  delivered  over  to  him,  duly  in- 
ventoried, and,  late  as  it  was  in  the  evening  when  he  reached 
Leyden,  he  insisted  on  being  conducted  immediately  to  the 
apartments  which  Frederick  had  occupied,  there  to  indulge 
the  first  ebullitions  of  his  sorrow,  before  he  retired  to  his  own. 
Madame  Miiller  accordingly  led  the  way  to  an  upper  room, 
Avhich,  being  situated  at  the  top  of  the  house,  had  been,  from 
its  privacy  and  distance  from  the  street,  selected  by  Frederick 
as  his  study.  The  Doctor  entered,  and  taking  the  lamp  from 
his  conductress  motioned  to  be  left  alone.  His  implied  wish 
was  of  course  complied  with:  and  nearly  two  hours  had 
elapsed  before  his  kind-hearted  hostess  reascendcd,  in  the  hope 
of  prevailing  upon  him  to  return  with  her,  and  partake  of 
that  refreshment  which  he  had  in  the  first  instance  peremptorily 
declined.  Her  application  for  admission  was  unnoticed : — she 
repeated  it  more  than  once,  without  success;  then,  becoming 
somewhat  alarmed  at  the  continued  silence,  opened  the  door 
and  perceived  her  new  inmate  stretched  on  the  floor  in  a 
fainting  fit.  Restoratives  were  instantly  administered,  and 
prompt  medical  aid  succeeded  at  length  in  restoring  him  to 
consciousness.  But  his  mind  had  received  a  shock  from 
which,  during  the  few  weeks  he  survived,  it  never  entirely 
recovered.  His  thoughts  wandered  perpetually ;  and  though, 
from  the  very  slight  acquaintance  which  his  hosts  had  with 
the  English  language,  the  greater  part  of  what  fell  from  him 
remained  unknown,  yet  enough  was  understood  to  induce 
them  to  believe  that  something  more  than  the  mere  death  of 
his  grandson  had  contributed  thus  to  paralyze  his  faculties. 

When  his  situation  was  first  discovered,  a  small  miniature 
was  found  tightly  grasped  in  his  right  hand.  It  had  been 
the  property  of  Frederick,  and  had  more  than  once  been  seen 
by  the  Miillers  in  his  possession.     To  this  the  patient  made 


THE  LATE  HENRI'   HARI{/;S,   D.D.  Itjl 

continued  refereuco,  and  would  not  suffer  it  one  moment  from 
his  sight :  it  was  iu  his  hand  when  he  expired.  At  my  request 
it  was  produced  to  me.  The  portrait  was  that  of  a  young 
woman,  in  an  English  morning  dress,  whose  pleasing  and 
regular  features,  with  their  mild  and  somewhat  pensive  ex- 
pression, were  not,  I  thought,  altogether  unknown  to  me. 
Her  age  was  apparently  about  twenty.  A  profusion  of  dark 
chestnut  hair  was  arranged  iu  the  Madonna  style  above  a  brow 
of  unsullied  whiteness,  a  single  ringlet  depending  on  the  left 
side.  A  glossy  lock  of  the  same  color,  and  evidently  belonging 
to  the  original,  appeared  beneath  a  small  crystal,  inlaid  in 
the  back  of  the  picture,  which  was  plainly  set  in  gold,  and 
bore  in  a  cipher  the  letters  M.  G.,  with  the  date  18 — .  From 
the  inspection  of  this  portrait  I  could  at  the  time  collect 
nothing,  nor  from  that  of  the  Doctor  himself,  which,  also, 
I  found  the  next  morning  in  Frederick's  desk,  accompanied 
by  two  separate  portions  of  hair.  One  of  them  was  a  lock, 
short  and  deeply  tinged  with  gray,  and  had  been  taken,  I 
have  little  doubt,  from  the  head  of  my  old  friend  himself; 
the  other  corresponded  in  color  and  appearance  with  that  at 
the  back  of  the  miniature.  It  was  not  till  a  few  days  had 
elapsed,  and  I  had  seen  the  worthy  Doctor's  remains  quietly 
consigned  to  the  narrow  house,  that,  while  arranging  his 
papers  previous  to  my  intended  return  upon  the  morrow, 
I  encountered  the  narrative  I  have  already  transcribed.  The 
name  of  the  unfortunate  young  woman  connected  with  it 
forcibly  arrested  my  attention.  I  recollected  it  immediately 
as  one  belonging  to  a  parishioner  of  my  own,  and  at  once 
recognized  the  original  of  the  female  portrait  as  its  owner. 

I  rose  not  from  the  perusal  of  bis  very  singular  statement 
till  I  had  gone  through  the  whole  of  it.  It  was  late,  and 
the  rays  of  the  single  lamp  by  which  I  was  reading  did  but 
very  faintly  illumine  the  remoter  parts  of  the  room  in  which 
I  sat.  The  brilliancy  of  an  unclouded  November  moon,  then 
some  twelve  nights  old,  and  shining  full  into  the  apartment, 
did  much  towards  remedying  the  defect.  IMy  thoughts  filled 
with  the  melancholy  details  I  had  read,  I  rose  and  walked  to 
the  window.  The  beautiful  planet  rose  high  iu  the  firmament, 
and  gave  to  the  snowy  roofs  of  the  houses,  and  pendent  icicles, 
11 


162  SINGULAR   PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF 

all  the  sparkling  radiance  of  clustering  gems.  The  stillness 
of  the  scene  harmonized  well  with  the  state  of  my  feelings. 
I  threw  open  the  casement  and  looked  abroad.  Far  below  me 
the  waters  of  the  principal  canal  shone  like  a  broad  mirror  in 
the  moonlight.  To  the  left  rose  the  Burght,  a  huge  round 
tower  of  remarkable  appearance,  pierced  with  embrasures  at 
its  summit ;  while  a  little  to  the  right,  and  in  the  distance,  the 
spire  and  pinnacles  of  the  Cathedral  of  Leyden  rose  in  all 
their  majesty,  presenting  a  coup  d'ceil  of  surpassing  though 
simple  beauty.  To  a  spectator  of  calm,  unoccupied  mind,  the 
scene  would  h^ve  been  delightful.  On  me  it  acted  with  an 
electric  effect.  I  turned  hastily  to  survey  the  apartment  in 
which  I  had  been  sitting.     It  was  the  one  designated  as  the 

study  of  the  late  Frederick  S .     The  sides  of  the  room 

were  covered  with  dark  wainscot ;  the  spacious  fireplace  oppo- 
site to  me,  with  its  polished  andirons,  was  surmounted  by  a 
large  old-fashioned  mantlepiece,  heavily  carved  in  the  Dutch 
style  with  fruits  and  flowers ;  above  it  frowned  a  portrait,  in  a 
Vandyke  dress,  with  a  peaked  beard  and  moustaches ;  one  hand 
of  the  figure  rested  on  a  table,  while  the  other  bore  a  marshal's 
stafi",  surmounted  with  a  silver  falcon ;  and  either  my  imagin- 
ation, already  heated  by  the  scene,  deceived  me,  or  a  smile  as 
of  malicious  triumph  curled  the  lip  and  glared  in  the  cold 
leaden  eye  that  seemed  fixed  upon  my  own.  The  heavy 
antique  cane-backed  chairs,  the  large  oaken  table,  the  book- 
shelves, the  scattered  volumes, — all,  all  were  there ;  while,  to 
complete  the  picture,  to  my  right  and  left,  as  half  breathless 
I  leaned  my  back  against  the  casement,  rose,  on  each  side,  a 
tallj  dark  ebony  cabinet,  in  whose  polished  sides  the  single 
lamp  upon  the  table  shone  reflected  as  in  a  mirror. 


What  am  I  to  think  ? — Can  it  be  that  the  story  I  have  been 
reading  was  written  by  my  poor  friend  here,  and  under  the  in- 
fluence of  delirium  ? — Impossible !  Besides,  they  all  assure  me 
that  from  that  fatal  night  of  his  arrival  he  never  left  his  bed — 
never  put  pen  to  paper.  His  very  directions  to  have  me  sum- 
moned from  England  were  verbally  given,  during  one  of  those 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,   D.D.  163 

few  and  brief  intervals  iu  which  reason  seemed  partially  to  re- 

5ume  her  sway.     Can  it  then  be  possible  that ?    "NV ? 

ivhere  is  he  who  alone  may  be  able  to  throw  light  on  this  horri- 
Dle  mystery  ?  No  one  knows.  He  absconded,  it  seems,  imme- 
iiately  after  the  duel.  No  trace  of  him  exists,  nor,  after 
repeated  and  anxious  inquiries,  can  I  find  that  any  student  has 
jver  been  known  in  the  University  of  Leyden  by  the  name  of 
Francis  Somers. 

"  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth 
Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy  1" 


Father  John  Ingoldsby,  to  whose  papers  I  am  largely 
ndebted  for  the  saintly  records  which  follow,  was  brought  up 
3y  his  father,  a  cadet  of  the  family,  in  the  Romish  faith,  aud 
Na&  educated  at  Douai  for  the  church.  Besides  the  manuscripts 
low  at  Tappington,  he  was  the  author  of  two  controversial 
reatises  on  the  connection  between  the  Papal  Hierarchy  and 
;he  Nine  of  Diamonds. 

From  his  well-known  loyalty,  evinced  by  secret  services  to 
;he  Royal  cause  during  the  Protectorate,  he  was  excepted  by 
lame  out  of  the  acts  against  the  Papists,  became  superiutend- 
mt  of  the  Queen  Dowager's  chapel  at  Somerset  House,  and 
mjoyed  a  small  pension  until  his  death,  which  took  place  in  the 
;hird  year  of  Queen  Anne  (1704),  at  the  mature  age  of  niuety- 
lix.  He  was  an  ecclesiastic  of  great  learning  and  piety,  but, 
Tom  the  stiff  and  antiquated  phraseology  which  he  adopted,  I 
lave  thought  it  necessary  to  modernize  it  a  little:  this  will 
iccount  for  certain  anachronisms  that  have  unavoidably  crept 
n;  the  substance  of  his  narratives  has,  however,  throughout 
jeen  strictly  adhered  to. 

His  hair-shirt,  almost  as  good  as  new,  is  still  preserved  at 
Cappington, — but  nobody  ever  wears  it. 


164  TUE  JACKDAW   OF  RHEIMS. 


"  Tunc  miser  Corvus  adeo  conscientiEe  stimulis  compunctus  fuit,  et  execratio  eura 
tantopere  excarneficavit,  ut  exinde  tabescere  inciperet,  maciem  contraheret,  omnem 
cibum  aversaretur,  nee  ampliils  crocitaret :  pennae  praiterea  ei  defluebant,  et  alis  peu- 
dulis  oiuues  facetias  iutermisit,  ettam  macer  apparuitutomnesejus  miserescent."  *    * 

"  Tunc  abbas  sacerdotibus  niandavit  ut  rursus  furem  absolverent ;  quo  facto,  Corvus, 
omnibus  mirantibus,  propediem  convaluit,  et  pristinam  sanitatem  recuperavit." 

De  Illust.  Ord.  Oislerc. 

THE  Jackdaw  sat  on  the  Cardinal's  chair ! 
Bishop,  and  Abbot,  and  Prior  were  there ; 

Many  a  monk,  and  many  a  friar, 

Many  a  knight,  and  many  a  squire, 
With  a  great  many  more  of  lesser  degree — 
In  sooth  a  goodly  company ; 
And  they  served  the  Lord  Primate  on  bended  knee. 

Never,  I  ween.  Was  a  prouder  seen, 
Eead  of  in  books,  or  dreamt  of  in  dreams, 
Than  the  Cardinal  Lord  Archbishop  of  Rheims ! 

In  and  out    Through  the  motley  rout, 
That  little  Jackdaw  kept  hopping  about ; 

Here  and  there    Like  a  dog  in  a  fair, 

Over  comfits  and  cakes,     And  dishes  and  plates, 
Cowl  and  cope,  and  rochet  and  pall. 
Mitre  and  crosier !  he  hopped  upon  all ! 

With  saucy  air,     He  perched  on  the  chair 
Where,  in  state,  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  sat 
In  the  great  Lord  Cardinal's  great  red  hat ; 

And  he  peered  in  the  face    Of  his  Lordship's  Grace, 
With  a  satisfied  look,  as  if  he  would  say, 
"  We  two  are  the  greatest  folks  here  to-day !" 

And  the  priests,  with  awe.     As  such  freaks  they  saw, 
Said,  "  The  devil  must  be  in  that  little  Jackdaw !" 

The  feast  was  over,  the  board  was  cleared. 

The  flawns  and  the  custards  had  all  disappeared. 


THE  JACKDAW  OF  R II  El  MS.  1G5 

And  six  little  Singing-boys, — dear  little  souls ! 
In  nice  clean  faces,  and  nice  white  stoics, 

Came,  in  order  due.     Two  by  two. 
Marching  that  grand  refectory  through ! 

A  nice  little  boy  held  a  golden  ewer, 
Embossed  and  filled  with  water,  as  pure 
As  any  that  flows  between  Rheims  and  Namur, 
Which  a  nice  little  boy  stood  ready  to  catch 
En  a  fine  golden  hand-basin  made  to  match. 
Iwo  nice  little  boys,  rather  more  grown, 
Carried  lavender-water  and  eau  de  Cologne ; 
And  a  nice  little  boy  had  a  nice  cake  of  soap, 
SVorthy  of  washing  the  hands  of  the  Pope. 

One  little  boy  more    A  napkin  bore, 
3f  the  best  white  diaper,  fringed  with  pink, 
/\.nd  a  Cardinal's  Hat  marked  in  "  permanent  ink." 

rhe  great  Lord  Cardinal  turns  at  the  sight 
3f  these  nice  little  boys  di-essed  all  in  white : 

From  his  finger  he  draws     His  costly  turquoise ; 
^nd,  not  thinking  at  all  about  little  Jackdaws, 

Deposits  it  straight     By  the  side  of  his  plate, 
IVhile  the  nice  little  boys  on  his  Eminence  wait ; 
rill,  when  nobody's  dreaming  of  any  such  thing. 
Chat  little  Jackdaw  hops  off  with  the  ring ! 


There's  a  cry  and  a  shout,     And  a  deuce  of  a  rout, 
^nd  nobody  seems  to  know  what  they're  about, 
3ut  the  monks  have  their  pockets  all  turned  inside  out ; 

The  friars  are  kneeling,     And  hunting,  and  feeling 
Che  carpet,  the  floor,  and  the  walls,  and  the  ceiling. 

The  Cardinal  drew    Off  each  plum-colored  shoe, 
^nd  left  his  red  stockings  exposed  to  the  view ; 

He  peeps,  and  he  feels    In  the  toes  and  the  heels ;  , 
rhey  turn  up  the  dishes, — they  turn  up  the  plates, — 
Dhey  take  up  the  poker  and  poke  out  the  grates, 


166  THE  JACKDAW  OF  R  HE  I  MS. 

— They  turn  up  the  rugs,     They  examine  the  mugs : — 
But  no ! — no  such  thing ; —     They  can't  find  the  ring  I 
And  the  Abbot  declared  that  "  when  nobody  twigged  it, 
Some  rascal  or  other  had  popped  in  and  prigged  it  I" 

The  Cardinal  rose  with  a  dignified  look, 

He  called  for  his  candle,  his  bell,  and  his  book ! 

In  holy  anger,  and  pious  grief, 

He  solemnly  cursed  that  rascally  thief! 

He  cursed  him  at  board,  he  cursed  him  in  bed ; 

From  the  sole  of  his  foot  to  the  crown  of  his  head ; 

He  cursed  him  in  sleeping,  that  every  night 

He  should  dream  of  the  devil,  and  wake  in  a  fright ; 

He  cursed  him  in  eating,  he  cursed  him  in  drinking, 

He  cursed  him  in  coughing,  in  sneezing,  in  winking; 

He  cursed  him  in  sitting,  in  standing,  in  lying ; 

He  cursed  him  in  walking,  in  riding,  in  flying. 

He  cursed  him  in  living,  he  cursed  himin  dying ! — 
Never  was  heard  such  a  terrible  curse ! 

But  what  gave  rise    To  no  little  surprise, 
Nobody  seemed  one  penny  the  worse ! 

The  day  was  gone,     The  night  came  on. 
The  Monks  and  the  Friars  they  searched  till  dawn ; 

When  the  Sacristan  saw,     On  crumpled  claw. 
Come  limping  a  poor  little  lame  Jackdaw ; 

No  longer  gay.     As  on  yesterday ; 
His  feathers  all  seemed  to  be  turned  the  wrong  way ; — 
His  pinions  drooped — he  could  hardly  stand, — 
His  head  was  as  bald  as  the  jialm  of  your  hand ; 

His  eye  so  dim,     So  wasted  each  limb. 
That,  heedless  of  grammar,  they  all  cried,  "  That's  him  ! — 
That's  the  scamp  that  has  done  this  scandalous  thing ! 
That's  the  thief  that  has  got  my  Lord  Cardinal's  Ring !" 

The  poor  little  Jackdaw,     When  the  monks  he  saw, 
Feebly  gave  vent  to  the  ghost  of  a  caw  ; 
And  turned  his  bald  head,  as  much  as  to  say, 

"  Pray,  be  so  good  as  to  walk  this  way  !" 


1 


"  No  longer  gay,     As  on  yesterday  ; 
His  feathers  all  seemed  to  be  turned  the  wrong  wa>-. 

p.  loo. 


THE  JACKDAW   OF  RUEIMS.  1(>7 

Slower  and  slower     He  limped  ou  before, 
Till  they  came  to  the  back  of  the  belfry  door, 

Where  the  first  thing  they  saw,     'Midst  the  sticks  and 
the  straw, 
Was  the  RING  in  the  nest  of  that  little  Jackdaw ! 

Then  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  called  for  his  book, 
And  off  that  terrible  curse  he  took ; 

The  mute  expression     Served  in  lieu  of  confession. 
And,  being  thus  coupled  with  full  restitution, 
The  Jackdaw  got  plenary  absolution ! 

— When  those  words  were  heard,     That  poor  little  bird 
Was  so  changed  in  a  moment,  'twas  really  absurd ; 
He  grew  sleek  and  fat ;     In  addition  to  that, 
A  fresh  crop  of  feathers  came  thick  as  a  mat !  ' 

His  tail  waggled  more     Even  than  before ; 
But  no  longer  it  wagged  with  an  impudent  air, 
No  longer  he  perched  on  the  Cardinal's  chair. 

He  hopped  now  about     With  a  gait  devout ; 
At  Matins,  at  Vespers,  he  never  was  out ; 
And,  so  far  from  any  more  pilfering  deeds, 
He  always  seemed  telling  the  Confessor's  beads. 
If  any  one  lied, — or  if  any  one  swore, — 
Or  slumbered  in  prayer-time  and  happened  to  snore. 

That  good  Jackdaw     Would  give  a  great  "  Caw !" 
As  much  as  to  say,  "  Don't  do  so  any  more !" 
While  many  remarked,  as  his  manners  they  saw, 
That  they  "  never  had  known  such  a  pious  Jackdaw !" 

He  long  lived  the  pride     Of  that  country  side, 
And  at  last  in  the  odor  of  sanctity  died  ; 

When,  as  words  were  too  faint    His  merits  to  paint, 
The  Conclave  determined  to  make  him  a  Saint ; 
And  on  newly-made  Saints  and  Popes,  as  you  know, 
It's  the  custom,  at  Rome,  new  names  to  bestow. 
So  they  canonized  him  by  the  name  of  Jim  Crow ! 


168  A   LAV  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN. 


a  Eag  of  St.  Uungtan. 


"  Wr^is  ]&ol2  t^illij  ©unstait  bas  Ittxwt  in  jif  jtrt  of  our  I^ortrt  ix.  tun&nl) 
^  XXV.  tf)at  tjimc  rcjurinac  in  tf)i5  loniJf  liin^t  fltljclston. 

"  S®!)an  it  so  ioas  tf)at  Sajnt  ^Sunstan  toas  Sutrn  of  pra^tr  tf)an  ustb  ^c 
to  bDtrkt  in  soIlJsmiitf3£S  ixitikt  Jxiitl)  Ijis  oiont  ijaniw  for  to  fBcf)cSxi£  sitlnw." 

Golden  Legend. 

Q1 T.  DUNSTAN  stood  in  his  ivied  tower, 
^^     Alembic,  crucible,  all  were  there ; 
When  in  came  Nick  to  play  him  a  trick. 
In  guise  of  a  damsel  passing  fair. 

Every  one  knows     How  the  story  goes : 
He  took  up  the  tongs  and  caught  hold  of  his  nose. 
But  I  beg  that  you  won't  for  a  moment  suppose 
That  I  mean  to  go  through,  in  detail,  to  you 
A  story  at  least  as  trite  as  it's  true ; 

Nor  do  I  intend     An  instant  to  spend 
On  the  tale,  how  he  treated  his  monarch  and  friend. 
When  bolting  away  to  a  chamber  remote, 
Inconceivably  bored  by  his  Witen-gemote, 

Edwy   left   them   all  joking,      And   drinking,   and 
smoking. 
So  tipsily  grand,  they'd  stand  nonsense  from  no  King, 

But  sent  the  Archbishop     Their  Sovereign  to  fish  up, 
With   a   hint   that   perchance   on   his    crown   he  might  feel 

taps 
Unless  he  came  back  straight  and  took  off  his  heel-taps. 
You  must  not  be  plaguefl  with  the  same  story  twice, 
And  perhaps  have  seen  this  one,  by  W.  Dyce, 


A   LAY  OF  Sr.   DUNSTAN.  169 


At  the  Royal  Academy,  very  well  done, 

And  marked  in  the  catalogue.  Four,  seven,  one. 


You  might  there  view  the  Saint,  who  in  sable  arrayed  is, 
Coercing  the  Monarch  away  from  the  Ladies  ; 
His  right  hand  has  hold  of  his  Majesty's  jerkin. 
His  left  shows  the  door,  and  he  seems  to  say,  "  Sir  King, 
Your  most  faithful  Commons  won't  hear  of  your  shirking ; 
Quit  your  tea,  and  return  to  your  Barclai  and  Perkyu ; 
Or,  by  Jingo,*  ere  morning,  no  longer  alive,  a 
Sad  victim  you'll  lie  to  your  love  for  Elgiva !" 

No  further  to  treat     Of  this  ungallant  feat, 
What  I  mean  to  do  now  is  succinctly  to  paint 
One  particular  fact  in  the  life  of  the  Saint, 
Which,  somehow,  for  want  of  due  care,  I  presume. 
Has  escaped  the  researches  of  Rapin  and  Hume, 
In  recounting  a  miracle,  both  of  them  men  who  a 
Great  deal  fall  short  of  Jacques,  Bishop  of  Genoa, 
An  Historian  who  likes  deeds  like  these  to  record — 
See  his  Aurea  Legenda,  by  SlSUgnltgn  tie  JSHortie. 


St.  Dunstan  stood  again  in  his  tower, 

Alembic,  crucible,  all  complete ; 
He  had  been  standing  a  good  half  hour, 
And  now  he  uttered  the  words  of  power, 

And  called  to  his  BroomsLick  to  bring  him  a  seat. 


The  words  of  power ! — and  what  be  they 

To  which  e'en  Broomsticks  bow  and  obey? 

Why, — 'twere  uncommonly  hard  to  say. 

As  the  prelate  I  named  has  recorded  none  of  them, 

What  they  may  be.     But  I  know  they  are  three. 
And  ABRACADABRA,  I  take  it,  is  one  of  them : 


*  St.  Jingo,  or  Gengo  (Gcngulphus),  soniotimes  styled  "  The  Living  Jingo,"  from  tlie 
great  tenaciousness  of  vitality  exhibited  by  his  severed  members.  Sec  bis  Legend,  as 
recorded  hereafter  in  the  present  volume. 


170  A   LAY  OF  ST.   DUNSTAN. 

For  I'm  told  that  most  Cabalists  use  tliat  identical 
Word,  written  thus,  in  what  they  call  "  a  Pentacle." 


However  that  be,    You'll  doubtless  agree 
It  signifies  little  to  you  or  to  me, 
As  not  being  dabblers  in  Graramarye ; 
Still,  it  must  be  confessed,  for  a  Saint  to  repeat 
Such  language  aloud  is  scarcely  discreet ; 
For,  as  Solomon  hints  to  folks  given  to  chatter, 
"  A  bird  of  the  air  may  carry  the  matter ;" 

And  in  sooth,     From  my  youth,     I  remember  a  truth 
Insisted  on  much  in  my  earlier  years, 
To  wit,  "  Little  Pitchers  have  very  long  ears !" 
Now,  just  such  a  "  Pitcher"  as  those  I  allude  to 
Was  outside- the  door,  which  his  "ears"  appeared  glued  to. 


Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin, 

Five  feet  one  in  his  sandal  shoon. 
While  the  Saint  thought  him  sleeping. 
Was  listening  and  peeping, 

And  watching  his  master  the  whole  afternoon. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN.  171 

This  Peter  the  Saint  had  picked  out  from  his  fellows, 
To  look  to  his  fire,  and  to  blow  with  the  bellows, 
To  put  on  the  Wall's-Ends  and  Lanabtons  whenever  he 
Chose  to  indulge  in  a  little  orfevrerie ; 

— Of  course  you  have  read    That  St.  Dunstan  was  bred 
A  Goldsmith,  and  never  quite  gave  up  the  trade ! 
The  Company — richest  in  London,  'tis  said — 
Acknowledge  him  still  as  their  Patron  and  Head ; 

Nor  is  it  so  long    Since  a  capital  song 
In  his  praise — now  recorded  their  archives  among — 
Delighted  the  noble  and  dignified  throng 
Of  their  guests,  who,  the  newspapers  told  the  whole  town, 
With  cheers  "  pledged  the  wine-cup  to  Dunstan's  renown," 
When   Lord    Lyndhurst,  The   Duke,  and   Sir   Robert  were 

dining 
At  the  Hall  some  time  since  with  the  Prime  Warden  Twining. — 
— I  am  sadly  digressing — a  fault  which  sometimes 
One  can  hardly  avoid  in  these  gossiping  rhymes — 
A  slight  deviation's  forgiven !  but  then  this  is 
Too  long,  I  fear,  for  a  decent  parenthesis, 
So  I'll  rein  up  my  Pegasus  sharp,  and  retreat,  or 
You'll  think  I've  forgotten  the  Lay-brother  Peter, 

Whom  the  Saint,  as  I  said.     Kept  to  turn  down  his  bed, 
Dress  his  palfreys  and  cobs,     And  do  other  odd  jobs, — 
As  reducing  to  writing     Whatever  he  might,  in 
The  course  of  the  day  or  the  night,  be  inditing. 
And  cleaning  the  plate  of  his  mitre  with  whiting ; 
Performing,  in  short,  all  those  duties  and  offices 
Abbots  exact  from  Lay-brothers  and  Novices. 


It  occurs  to  me  here    You'll  perhaps  think  it  queer 
That  St.  Dunstan  should  have  such  a  personage  near, 

When  he'd  only  to  say     Those  words, — be   what   they 
may,— 
And  his  Broomstick  at  once  his  commands  would  obey. — 

That's  true — but  the  fact  is     'Twas  rarely  his  practice 
Such  aid  to  resort  to,  or  such  means  apply. 
Unless  he'd  some  "dignified  knot"  to  untie, 


172  A   LAY  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN. 

Aflopting,  though  sometimes,  as  now,  he'd  reverse  it, 

Old  Horace's  maxim  "  nee  Broomstick  intersit." — 

— Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin, 

Heard  all  the  Saint  was  saying  within ; 

Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  sallow  and  spare, 

Peeped  through  the  keyhole,  and — what  saw  he  there? — 

Why, — A  Broomstick  bringing  a  rush-bottomed  chair! 

What  Shakspeare  observes,  in  his  play  of  King  John, 

Is  undoubtedly  right.     That  "  ofttimes  the  sight 
Of  means  to  do  ill  deeds  will  make  ill  deeds  done." 
Here's  Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  pale-faced  and  meagre, 
A  good  sort  of  man,  only  rather  too  eager 
To  listen  to  what  other  people  are  saying 
When  he  ought  to  be  minding  his  business  or  praying, 
Gets  into  a  scrape,  and  an  awkward  one,  too, — 
As  you'll  find  if  you've  patience  enough  to  go  through 

The  whole  of  the  story     I'm  laying  before  ye, — 
Entirely  from  having  "  the  means  "  in  his  view 
Of  doing  a  thing  which  he  ought  not  to  do ! 

Still  rings  in  his  ear.     Distinct  and  clear. 
Abracadabra !  that  word  of  fear ! 
And  the  two  which  I  never  yet  happened  to  hear. 

Still  doth  he  spy.     With  fancy's  eye. 
The  Broomstick  at  work,  and  the  Saint  standing  by ; 
And  he  chuckles,  and  says  to  himself,  with  giee, 
"Aha!  that  Broomstick  shall  work  for  me/" 


Hark ! — that  swell     O'er  flood  and  o'er  fell, 
Mountain,  and  dingle,  and  moss-covered  dell ! 
List ! — 'tis  the  sound  of  the  Compline  bell ; 
And  St.  Dunstan  is  quitting  his  ivied  cell ; 

Peter,  I  wot.     Is  off  like  a  shot. 
Or  a  little  dog  scalded  by  something  that's  hot. 
For  he  hears  his  master  approaching  the  spot 
Where  he'd  listened  so  long,  though  he  knew  he  ought  not : 


A    LAV   OF  ST.  DUNSTAN.  17;{ 

Peter  remembered  his  Master's  frowu — 

He  trembled — he'd  not  have  been  caught  for  a  crown  ; 

Howe'er  you  may  laugh,     He'd  rather,  by  half, 
Have  run  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower  and  jumped  down. 


The  Compline  hour  is  past  and  gone, 
Evening  service  is  over  and  done ; 

The  Monks  repair    To  their  frugal  fare, 
A  snug  little  supper  of  something  light 
And  digestible,  ere  they  retire  for  the  night. 
For,  in  Saxon  times,  in  respect  to  their  cheer, 
St.  Austin's  rule  was  by  no  means  severe. 
But  allowed,  from  the  Beverley  Roll  'twould  appear, 
Bread  and  cheese,  and  spring  onions,  and  sound  table  beer. 
And  even  green  peas,  when  they  were  not  too  dear ; 
Not  like  the  Rule  of  La  Trappe,  whose  chief  merit  is 
Said  to  consist  in  its  greater  austerities ; 
And  whose  Monks,  if  I  rightly  remember  their  laws. 

Ne'er  are  suffered  to  speak.     Think  only  in  Greek, 
And  subsist,  as  the  Bears  do,  by  sucking  their  paws. 

Astonished  I  am     The  gay  Baron  Geramb 
With  his  head  sav'ring  more  of  the  Lion  than  Lamb 
Could  e'er  be  persuaded  to  join  such  a  set — I 
Extend  the  remark  to  Signer  Ambrogetti. — 
For  a  Monk  of  La  Trappe  is  as  thin  as  a  rat, 
While  an  Austin  Friar  was  jolly  and  fat ; 
Though,  of  course,  the  fare  to  which  I  allude. 
With  as  good  table  beer  as  ever  was  brewed, 
Was  all  "  caviare  to  the  multitude," 
Extending  alone  to  the  clergy,  together  in 
Hall  assembled,  and  not  to  Lay-brethren. 
St.  Dunstan  himself  sits  there  at  his  post, 

On  what  they  say  is  Called  a  Dais, 
O'erlooking  the  whole  of  his  clerical  host, 
And  eating  poached  eggs  with  spinach  and  toast ; 


174  A   LAY  OF  ST.  DUNSTAN. 

Five  Lay-brothers  stand  behind  his  chair, 

But  where  is  the  sixth  ?— Where's  Peter  ?— Ay,  WHERE  ? 

'Tis  an  evening  in  June,     And  a  little  half  moon, 
A  brighter  no  fond  lover  ever  set  eyes  on 

Gleaming  and  beaming.     And  dancing  the  stream  in, 
Has  made  her  appearance  above  the  horizon ; 
Just  such  a  half  moon  as  you  see,  in  a  play, 
On  the  turban  of  Mustapha  Muley  Bey, 
Or  the  fair  Turk  who  weds  with  the  "  Noble  Lord  Bateman ;" 
—  Vide  jolate  in  George  Cruikshanks'  memoirs  of  that  great 

man. 
She  shines  on  a  turret  remote  and  lone, 
A  turret  with  ivy  and  moss  overgrown, 
And  lichens  that  thi'ive  on  the  cold  dank  stone ; 
Such  a  tower  as  a  poet  of  no  mean  calibre 
I  once  knew  and  loved,  poor,  dear  Reginald  Heber, 
Assigns  to  oblivion* — a  den  for  a  She-Bear ; 

Within  it  are  found,     Strewed  above  and  around, 
On  the  hearth,  on  the  table,  the  shelves,  and  the  ground. 
All  sorts  of  instruments,  all  sorts  of  tools. 
To  name  which,  and  their  uses,  would  puzzle  the  Schools, 
And  make  very  Avise  people  look  very  like  fools ; 

Pincers  and  hooks.     And  black-letter  books. 
All  sorts  of  pokers  and  all  sorts  of  tongs, 
And  all  sorts  of  hammers,  and  all  that  belongs 
To  Goldsmiths'  work,  chemistry,  alchemy, — all, 

In  short,  that  a  Sage,     In  that  erudite  age, 
Could  require,  was  at  hand,  or  at  least  within  call. 
In  the  midst  of  the  room  lies  a  Broomstick ! — and  there 
A  Lay-brother  sits  in  a  rush-bottomed  chair ! 

Abracadabra,  that  fearful  word. 

And  the  two  which,  I  said,  I  have  never  yet  heard. 

Are  uttered. — 'Tis  done !     Peter,  full  of  his  fun. 
Cries,  "  Broomstick  !  you  lubberly  son  of  a  gun  ! 

*  And  cold  oblivion,  'midst  the  ruin  laid, 
Folds  her  dank  wing  beneath  the  ivy  shade. 

Palestine. 


A   LAV  OF  ST.  JJOWSTAiW  175 

Bring  ale ! — bring  a  flagon — a  hogshead — a  tun  ! 

'Tis  the  same  thing  to  you ;     I  have  nothing  to  do  ; 
And,  'fore  George,  I'll  sit  here,  and  I'll  drink  till  all's  blue  1" 


No  doubt  you've  remarked  how  uncommonly  quick 

A  Newfoundland  puppy  runs  after  a  stick. 

Brings  it  back  to  his  master,  and  gives  it  him — Well, 

So  potent  the  spell. 
The  Broomstick  perceived  it  was  vain  to  rebel. 
So  ran  off  like  that  puppy ; — some  cellar  was  near. 
For  in  less  than  ten  seconds  'twas  back  with  the  beer  1 
Peter  seizes  the  flagon ;  but  ere  he  can  suck 
Its  contents,  or  enjoy  what  he  thinks  his  good  luck. 
The  Broomstick  comes  in  with  a  tub  in  a  truck ; 

Continues  to  run     At  the  rate  it  begun, 
And,  au  pied  de  lettre,  next  brings  in  a  tun  ; 
A  fresh  one  succeeds,  then  a  third,  then  another, 
Discomfiting  much  the  astounded  Lay-brother ; 
Who,  had  he  possessed  fifty  pitchers  or  stoups, 
They  all  had  been  too  few  ;  for,  arranging  in  groups 
The  barrels,  the  Broomstick  next  started  the  hoops : 

The  ale  deluged  the  floor,     But  still,  through  the  door, 
Said  Broomstick  kept  bolting,  and  bringing  in  more. 

E'en  Macbeth  to  MacduflT 

Would  have  cried  "  Hold  !  enough !" 
If  half  as  well  drenched  with  such  "  perilous  stuff," 
And  Peter,  who  did  not  expect  such  a  rough  visit, 
Cried  lustily,  "  Stop !— That  will  do.  Broomstick  l—Suffieitr 

But  ah,  well-a-day !     The  Devil,  they  say, 
'Tis  easier  at  all  times  to  raise  than  to  lay. 

Again  and  again     Peter  roared  out  in  vain 
His  Abracadabra,  and  t'other  words  twain : — 

As  well  might  one  try    A  pack  in  full  cry 
To  check,  and  call  oflT  from  their  headlong  career, 
By  bawling  out  "  Yoicks !"  with  one's  hand  at  one's  ear. 
The  longer  he  roared  and  the  louder  and  quicker. 
The  faster  the  Broomstick  was  bringing  in  liquor. 


176  A   LAY  OF  ST.  DUNS  TAN. 

The  poor  Lay-brother  knew     Not  on  earth  what  to  do — 
He  caught  hold  of  the  Broomstick  and  snapt  it  in  two. — 

Worse   and   worse! — like   a  dart,     Each   part  made  a 
start, 
And  he  found  he'd  been  adding  more  fuel  to  fire, 
For  both  now  came  loaded  with  Meux's  entire ; 
Combe's,  Delafield's,  Hanbury's,  Truman's — no  stopping — 
Goding's,  Charrington's,  Whitbread's,  continued  to  drop  in, 
With  Hodson's  pale  ale,  from  the  Sun  Brewhouse,  Wapping. 
The  firms  differed  then,  but  I  can't  put  a  tax  on 
My  memory  to  say  what  their  names  were  in  Saxon. 

To  be  sure  the  best  beer     Of  all  did  not  appear ; 
For  I've  said  'twas  in  June,  and  so  late  in  the  year 
The  "  Trinity  Audit  Ale  "  is  not  come-at-able, 
— As  I've  found  to  my  great  grief  when  dining  at  that  table. 


Now  extremely  alarmed,  Peter  screamed  without  ceasing. 
For  a  flood  of  brown  stout  he  was  up  to  his  knees  in. 
Which,  thanks  to  the  Broomstick,  continued  increasing ; 

He  feared  he'd  be  drowned,     And  he  yelled  till  the 
sound 
Of  his  voice,  winged  by  terror,  at  last  reached  the  ear 
Of  St.  Dunstan  himself,  who  had  finished  his  beer, 
And  had  put  oflT  his  mitre,  dalmatic,  and  shoes. 
And  was  just  stepping  into  his  bed  for  a  snooze. 

His  Holiness  paused  when  he  heard  such  a  clatter ; 

He  could  not  conceive  what  on  earth  was  the  matter. 

Slipping  on  a  few  things,  for  the  sake  of  decorum, 

He  issued  forthwith  from  his  Sanctum  sanctorum, 

And  calling  a  few  of  the  Lay-brothers  near  him. 

Who  were  not  yet  in  bed,  and  who  happened  to  hear  him, 

At  once  led  the  way.     Without  further  delay, 
To  the  tower  where  he'd  been  in  the  course  of  the  day. 


Poor  Peter ! — alas !  though  St.  Dunstan  was  quick, 

There  were  two  there  before  him — Grim  Death  and  Old  Nick  I- 


A   LAV  OF  ST.   DUXSTAX.  177 

When  they  opened  the  door  out  the  nialt-lii|uor  flowed, 
Just  as  when  the  great  Vat  burst  in  Tott'n'am  Court  Koad  ; 
The  Lay-brothers  nearest  were  up  to  their  necks 
In  an  instant,  and  swimming  in  strong  double  X ; 
While  Peter,  who,  spite  of  himself,  now  had  drank  hard, 
After  floating  awhile,  like  a  toast  in  a  tankard, 

To  the  bottom  had  sunk,     And  was  spied  by  a  monk. 
Stone-dead,  like  poor  Clarence,  half  drowned  and  half  druuk« 


In  vain  did  St.  Dunstan  exclaim,  "  Vade  retro 
Strongbeerum! — diseede  a  Lay-fratre  Fetro  !" 

Queer  Latin,  you'll  say,     That  prefix  of  '^Lay," 
And  Strongbeerum! — I  own  they'd  have  called  me  a  block- 
head if 
At  school  I  had  ventured  to  use  such  a  Vocative ; 
'Tis  a  barbarous  word,  and  to  me  it's  a  query 
If  you'll  find  it  in  Patrick,  Morell,  or  Moreri ; 
But  the  fact  is,  the  Saint  was  uncommonly  flurried, 
And  apt  to  be  loose  in  his  Latin  when  hurried ; 
The  brown-stout,  however,  obeys  to  the  letter. 
Quite  as  well  as  if  talked  to,  in  Latin  much  better, 

By  a  grave  Cambridge  Johnian,     Or  graver  Oxonian, 
Whose  language,  we  all  know,  is  quite  Ciceronian. 
It  retires  from  the  corpse,  which  is  left  high  and  dry  ; 
But  in  vain  do  they  snuff  and  hot  towels  apply. 
And  other  means  used  by  the  faculty  try, 

When   once   a   man's   dead      There's   no   more   to   be 
said; 
Peter's  "  Beer  with  an  e  "  was  his  "  Bier  with  an  i .'" 


MORAL. 

By  way  of  a  moral  permit  me  to  pop  in 
The  following  maxims : — Beware  of  eaves-dropping ! — 
Don't  make  use  of  language  that  isn't  well  scanned ! — 
Don't  meddle  with  matters  you  don't  understand ! — 
Above  all,  what  I'd  wish  to  impress  on  both  sexes 
Is, — Keep  clear  of  Broomsticks,  Old  Nick,  and  three  XXX's. 
12 


178  A   LAY   OF  ST.   DUNSTAN. 

L'Envoye. 

In  Goldsmiths'  Hall  there's  a  handsome  glass  case. 

And  in  it  a  stone  figure,  found  on  the  place, 

When,  thinking  the  old  Hall  no  longer  a  pleasant  one, 

They  pulled  it  all  down,  and  erected  the  present  one. 

If  you  look,  you'll  perceive  that  this  stone  figure  twists 

A  thing  like  a  broomstick  in  one  of  its  fists. 

It's  so  injured  by  time,  you  can't  make  out  a  feature ; 

But  it  is  not  St.  Duustan, — so  doubtless  it's  Peter. 


Gengulphus,  or,  as  he  is  usually  styled  in  this  country, 
"  Jingo,"  was  perhaps  more  in  the  mouths  of  the  "  general " 
than  any  other  Saint,  on  occasions  of  adjuration  (see  note,  page 
169).  Mr.  Simpkinson  from  Bath  has  kindly  transmitted  me 
a  portion  of  a  primitive  ballad,  which  has  escaped  the  researches 
of  Kitson  and  Ellis,  but  is  yet  replete  with  beauties  of  no  com- 
mon order.  I  am  happy  to  say  that,  since  these  Legends  first 
appeared,  I  have  recovered  the  whole  of  it.     Vide  infra. 

"  f[  ^tmkl^n's  iJosst  ItptlJ  oitx  a  stjU, 
gln&  ^BS  namt  teas  Uttzl  Bsngo. 
33  fcoit^  a  g— i  h3t«)  an  N— 
N  fettf)  a  (Bt— (K  hJilt  an  ©, 
®!){2  tsUtl3  {)5m  litttl  Bsngo ! 

®!)2S  jFranfelsn,  %^xs,  It  ixi^ti  soolJt  z$lt, 
SniJ  t£  ^alltli  it  Mart  goolji  Stsnso ! 
%,  U,  §,  N,  <K,  © ! 
^z  tslUh  it  3B.KVt  sooltt  Stjnso ! 

Nob3E  is  nottt  ttj^  a  prtttit  song? 
I  ti)infec  it  is,  62*  j(2"90  ' 
1  h^th  a  i— N,  (5,  ®— 
J  sSntart  2'^  'S,  is*  Isnflo  1" 


A   LAI'   OF  ST.   GENGULrUUS.  179 


a  Eag  of  Sbt  €;cnsulpi)u^. 

"  Non  multo  post,  Gengulphus,  in  domo  sua  dormiens,  occisus  est  S.  quodam  clerico 
qui  cum  uxore  su4  adulterare  solebat.  Cujus  corpus  duui,  in  fereto,  in  supulturam 
portaretur,  multi  infirmi  de  tactu  sanati  sunt." 

"Cum  hoc  illius  uxori  referretur  ab  aucilla  sua,  scilicet  dominum  suum,  quam  mar- 
tyrem  sanctum,  miracula  facere,  irridens  ilia,  et  subsurrans,  ait,  '  Ita  Gengulphus 
miracula  facitat  ut  pulvinarium  meum  cantat,' "  etc.,  etc. — Wolfii  Memordb. 

GENGULPHUS  comes  from  the  Holy  Land, 
With  his  scrip,  and  his  bottle,  and  sandal  shoon ; 
Full  many  a  day  hath  he  been  away, 

Yet  his  lady  deems  him  returned  full  soon. 

Full  many  a  day  hath  he  been  away, 

Yet  scarce  had  he  crossed  ayont  the  sea, 
Ere  a  spruce  young  spark  of  a  Learned  Clerk 

Had  called  on  his  Lady,  and  stopped  to  tea. 

This  spruce  young  guest,  so  trimly  drest, 

Stayed  with  that  Lady,  her  revels  to  crown ; 
They  laughed,  and  they  ate  and  they  drank  of  the  best. 

And  they  turned  the  old  castle  quite  upside  down. 

They  would  walk  in  the  park,  that  spruce  young  Clerk, 
With  that  frolicsome  Lady  so  frank  and  free, 

Trying  balls  and  plays,  and  all  manner  of  ways, 
To  get  rid  of  what  French  people  called  Ennui. 


Now  the  festive  board  with  viands  is  stored. 

Savory  dishes  be  there,  I  ween. 
Rich  puddings  and  big,  a  barbecued  pig. 

And  ox-tail  soup  in  a  China  tureen. 

There's  a  flagon  of  ale  as  large  as  a  pail — 

When,  cockle  on  hat,  and  staff  in  hand, 
While  on  nought  they  are  thinking  save  eating  and  drinking, 

Gengulphus  walks  in  from  the  Holy  Laud ! 


180  A   LAY  OF  Sr.    GENGULPHUS. 

"  You  must  be  pretty  deep  to  catch  weasels  asleep," 
Says  the  proverb :  that  is,  "  take  the  Fair  unawares ;" 

A  maid  o'er  the  banisters  chancing  to  peep, 

Whispers,  "  Ma'am,  here's  Gengulphus  a-coming  up  stairs. 

Pig,  pudding,  and  soup,  the  electrified  group, 
With  the  flagon,  pop  under  the  sofa  in  haste, 

And  contrive  to  deposit  the  Clerk  in  the  closet. 
As  the  dish  least  of  all  to  Gengulphus's  taste. 

Then  oh  !  what  rapture,  what  joy  was  exprest. 
When  "  poor  dear  Gengulphus  "  at  last  appeared ! 

She  kissed  and  she  pressed  "  the  dear  man"  to  her  breast, 
In  spite  of  his  great,  long,  frizzly  beard. 

Such  hugging  and  squeezing !  'twas  almost  unpleasing, 

A  smile  on  her  lip,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye  ;* 
She  was  so  very  glad  that  she  seemed  half  mad. 

And  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry. 

Then  she  calls  up  the  maid,  and  the  table-cloth's  laid, 
And  she  sends  for  a  pint  of  the  best  Brown  Stout ; 

On  the  fire,  too,  she  pops  some  nice  mutton-chops. 
And  she  mixes  a  stiff*  glass  of  "  Cold  Without." 

Then  again  she  began  at  the  "  poor  dear"  man  ; 

She  pressed  him  to  drink,  and  she  pressed  him  to  eat, 
And  she  brought  a  foot-pan,  with  hot  water  and  bran. 

To  comfort  his  "  poor  dear  "  travel- worn  feet. 

"  Nor  night  nor  day  since  he'd  been  away. 

Had  she  had  any  rest,"  she  "  vowed  and  declared ;" 

She  "  never  could  eat  one  morsel  of  meat. 

For  thinking  how  '  poor  dear '  Gengulphus  fared." 

She  "  really  did  think  she  had  not  slept  a  wink 

Since  he  left  her,  although  he'd  been  absent  so  long ;" 

He  here  shook  his  head, — right  little  he  said, 

But  he  thought  she  was  "  coming  it  rather  too  strong.'* 

*  Evi,  SaKpvai  yeKaaaaa. — HOM. 


A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPUUS.  181 

Now  his  palate  she  tickles  with  the  chops  and  the  pickles 
Till,  so  great  the  efFect  of  that  stiff  giu  grog, 

His  weakened  body,  subdued  by  the  toddy. 
Falls  out  of  the  chair,  and  he  lies  like  a  log. 

Then  out  comes  the  Clerk  from  his  secret  lair ; 

He  lifts  up  the  legs,  and  she  lifts  up  the  head, 
And,  between  them,  this  most  reprehensible  pair 

Undress  poor  Gengulphus  and  put  him  to  bed. 

Then  the  bolster  they  place  athwart  his  face. 

And  his  nightcap  into  his  mouth  they  cram ; 
And  she  pinches  his  nose  underneath  the  clothes. 

Till  the  "  poor  dear  soul "  goes  off  like  a  lamb. 


And  now  they  tried  the  deed  to  hide ; 

For  a  little  bird  whispered,  "  Perchance  you  may  swing ; 
Here's  a  corpse  in  the  case  with  a  sad  swelled  face, 

And  a  Medical  Crowner's  a  queer  sort  of  thing !" 

So  the  Clerk  and  wife,  they  each  took  a  knife. 

And  the  nippers  that  nipped  the  loaf-sugar  for  tea ; 

With  the  edges  and  points  they  severed  the  joints 
At  the  clavicle,  elbow,  hip,  ankle,  and  knee. 

Thus  limb  from  limb  they  dismembered  him 

So  entirely,  i\l2ii  e'en  when  they  came  to  his  wrists. 

With  those  great  sugar-nippers  they  nipped  off  his  "  flippers," 
As  the  Clerk,  very  flippantly,  termed  his  fists. 

When  they'd  cut  off  his  head,  entertaining  a  dread 
Lest  folks  should  remember  Gengulphus's  face. 

They  determined  to  throw  it  where  no  one  could  know  it, 
Down  the  well, — and  the  limbs  in  some  different  place. 

But  first  the  long  beard  from  the  chin  they  sheared, 

And  managed  to  stuff  that  sanctified  hair. 
With  a  good  deal  of  pushing,  all  into  the  cushion 

That  filled  up  the  seat  of  a  large  arm-chair. 


182  A   LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPnUS. 

They  contrived  to  pack  up  the  trunk  in  a  sack, 
Which  they  hid  in  an  osier-bed  outside  the  town, 

The  Clerk  bearing  arms,  legs,  and  all  on  his  back, 
As  that  vile  Mr.  Greenacre  served  Mrs.  Brown. 

But  to  see  now  how  strangely  things  sometimes  turn  out, 
And  that  in  a  manner  the  least  expected ! 

Who  could  surmise  a  man  ever  could  rise 

Who'd  been  thus  carbonadoed,  cut  up,  and  dissected  ? 

No  doubt  'twould  surprise  the  pupils  at  Guy's  ; 

I  am  no  unbeliever — no  man  can  say  that  o'  me — 
But  St.  Thomas  himself  would  scarce  trust  his  own  eyes 

If  he  saw  such  a  thing  in  his  School  of  Anatomy. 

You  may  deal  as  you  please  with  Hindoos  and  Chinese, 
Or  a  Mussulman  making  his  heathen  salaam,  or 

A  Jew  or  a  Turk,  but  it's  other  guess  work 

When  a  man  has  to  do  with  a  Pilgrim  or  Palmer. 


By  chance  the  Prince  Bishop,  a  Royal  Divine, 

Sends  his  cards  round  the  neighborhood  next  day,  and  urges  his 
Wish  to  receive  a  snug  party  to  dine 

Of  the  resident  clergy,  the  gentry,  and  burgesses. 

At  a  quarter  past  five  they  are  all  alive 

At  the  palace,  for  coaches  are  fast  rolling  in ; 

And  to  every  guest  his  card  had  expressed 
"  Half-past"  as  the  hour  for  a  "  greasy  chin." 

Some  thirty  are  seated,  and  handsomely  treated 

With  the  choicest  Rhine  wines  in  his  Highuess's  stock. 

When  a  Count  of  the  Empire,  who  felt  himself  heated. 
Requested  some  water  to  mix  with  his  Hock. 

The  Butler,  who  saw  it,  sent  a  maid  out  to  draw  it, 
But  scarce  had  she  given  the  windlass  a  twirl. 

Ere  Gengulphus's  head,  from  the  well's  bottom,  said 
In  mild  accents,  "  Do  help  us  out,  that's  a  good  girl !" 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  GENGULl'llUS.  183 

Only  fancy  her  dread  when  she  saw  a  great  head 

In  her  bucket ; — with  fright  she  was  ready  to  drop  : — 

Conceive,  if  you  can,  how  she  roared  and  she  ran. 
With  the  head  rolling  after  her,  bawling  out  "  Stop !" 

She  ran  and  she  roared,  till  she  came  to  the  board 
Where  the  Prince  Bishop  sat  with  his  party  around, 

When  Gengulphus's  poll,  Avhich  continued  to  roll 
At  her  heels,  on  the  table  bounced  up  with  a  bound, 

Never  touching  the  cates,  or  the  dishes  or  plates, 
The  decanters  or  glasses,  the  sweetmeats  or  fruits, 

The  head  smiles,  and  begs  them  to  bring  him  his  legs, 
As  a  well-spoken  gentleman  asks  for  his  boots. 

Kicking  open  the  casement,  to  each  one's  amazement, 
Straight  a  right  leg  steps  in,  all  impediment  scorns, 

And  near  the  head  stopping,  a  left  follows  hopping 
Behind, — for  the  left  leg  was  troubled  with  corns. 

Next,  before  the  beholders,  two  great  brawny  shoulders. 
And  arms  on  their  bent  elbows,  dance  through  the  throng, 

While  two  hands  assist,  though  nipped  off  at  the  wrist, 
The  said  shoulders  in  bearing  a  body  along. 

They  march  up  to  the  head,  not  one  syllable  said, 
For  the  thirty  guests  all  stare  in  wonder  and  doubt, 

As  the  limbs  in  their  sight  arrange  and  unite, 

Till  Gengulphus,  though  dead,  looks  as  sound  as  a  trout. 

I  will  venture  to  say,  from  that  hour  to  this  day. 
Ne'er  did  such  an  assembly  behold  such  a  scene ; 

Or  a  table  divide  fifteen  guests  of  a  side 

With  a  dead  body  placed  in  the  centre  between. 

Yes,  they  stared — well  they  might  at  so  novel  a  sight : 
No  one  uttered  a  whisper,  a  sneeze,  or  a  hem, 

But  sat  all  bolt  upright,  and  pale  with  affright ; 

And  they  gazed  at  the  dead  man,  the  dead  man  at  them. 


184  A   LAV  OF  ST.    GENGULrHUS. 

The  Prince  Bishop's  Jester,  on  punning  intent,  ' 

As  he  viewed  the  whole  thirty,  in  jocular  terms 

Said,  "  They  put  him  in  mind  of  a  Council  of  Trente 
Engaged  in  reviewing  the  Diet  of  Worms." 

But  what  should  they  do  ? — Oh !  nobody  knew 

What  was  best  to  be  done,  either  stranger  or  resident ; 

The  Chancellor's  self  read  his  PufTendorf  through 
In  vain,  for  his  books  could  not  furnish  a  precedent. 

The  Prince  Bishop  muttered  a  curse,  and  a  prayer. 

Which  his  double  capacity  hit  to  a  nicety ; 
His  Princely,  or  Lay,  half  induced  him  to  swear, 

His  Episcopal  moiety  said  "  Benedicite  !" 

The  Coroner  sat  on  the  body  that  night, 

And  the  jury  agreed, — not  a  doubt  could  they  harbor, — 
"  That  the  chin  of  the  corpse — the  sole  thing  brought  to  light — 

Had  been  recently  shaved  by  a  very  bad  barber." 

They  sent  out  Von  Taiinsend,  Von  Biirnie,  Von  Roe, 

Von  Maine,  and  Von  Rowantz — through  chalets  and  chateaux. 

Towns,  villages,  hamlets,  they  told  them  to  go. 

And  they  stuck  up  placards  on  the  walls  of  the  Stadthaus. 

"MURDER!! 

"  Whereas,  a  dead  gentleman,  surname  unknown. 
Has  been  recently  found  at  his  Highness's  banquet. 

Rather  shabbily  drest  in  an  Amice,  or  gown. 

In  appearance  resembling  a  second-hand  blanket ; 

"And  Whereas,  there's  great  reason  indeed  to  suspect 
That  some  ill-disposed  person,  or  persons,  with  malice 

Aforethought,  have  killed,  and  begun  to  dissect 
The  said  Gentleman,  not  very  far  from  the  palace ; 

"  This  is  to  give  Notice  ! — Whoever  shall  seize. 
And  such  person,  or  persons,  to  justice  surrender. 

Shall  receive — such  Reward — as  his  Highness  shall  please. 
On  conviction  of  him,  the  aforesaid  offender. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPHUS.  186 

"  And,  in  order  the  matter  more  clearly  to  trace 

To  the  bottom,  his  Highness,  the*  Prince  Bishop,  further, 

Of  his  clemency,  offers  free  Pardon  and  Grace 

To  all  such  as  have  not  been  concerned  in  the  murther. 

"  Done  this  day,  at  our  palace, — July  twenty-five, — 
By  command, 

(Signed) 

Johann  Von  Russell. 
N.  B. 
Deceased  rather  in  years — had  a  squint  when  alive ; 
And  smells  slightly  of  gin — linen  mark'd  with  a  G." 

The  Newspapers,  too,  made  no  little  ado. 

Though  a  different  version  each  managed  to  dish  up ; 

Some  said,  "  The  Prince  Bishop  had  run  a  man  through," 
Others  said,  "  An  assassin  had  killed  the  Prince  Bishop." 

The  "Ghent  Herald"  fell  foul  of  the  "  Bruxelles  Gazette," 
The  "  Bruxelles  Gazette,"  with  much  sneering  ironical. 

Scorned  to  remain  in  the  "  Ghent  Herald's  "  debt. 

And  the   "Amsterdam    Times"   quizzed   the  "Nuremberg 
Chronicle." 

In  one  thing,  indeed,  all  the  journals  agreed. 

Spite  of  "  politics,"  "  bias,"  or  "  party  collision  ;" 

Viz. :  to  "give,"  when  they'd  "further  accounts"  of  the  deed, 
"  Full  particulars  "  soon,  in  "  a  later  Edition." 

But  now,  while  on  all  sides  they  rode  and  they  ran, 
Trying  all  sorts  of  means  to  discover  the  caitiffs. 

Losing  patience,  the  holy  Gengulphus  began 
To  think  it  high  time  to  "  astonish  the  natives." 

First,  a  Rittmeister's  Frau,  who  was  weak  in  both  eyes. 
And  supposed  the  most  short-sighted  woman  in  Holland, 

Found  greater  relief,  to  her  joy  and  surprise, 

From  one  glimpse  of  his  "  squint "  than  from  glasses  by  Dollond. 

By  the  slightest  approach  to  the  tip  of  his  nose, 

Megrims,  headache,  and  vapors  were  put  to  the  rout; 


186  A  LAY  OF  ST.   GENGULPHUS. 

And  one  single  touch  of  his  precious  great  toes 
Was  a  certain  specific  for  chilblains  and  gout. 

Rheumatics, — sciatica, — tic-doloureux ! 

Apply  to  his  shin-bones — not  one  of  them  lingers ; — 
All  bilious  complaints  in  an  instant  withdrew 

If  the  patient  was  tickled  with  one  of  his  fingers. 

Much  virtue  was  found  to  reside  in  his  thumbs ; 

When  applied  to  the  chest  they  cured  scantness  of  breathing, 
Sea-sickness,  and  colic ;  or,  rubbed  on  the  gums. 

Were  "  A  blessing  to  Mothers,"  for  infants  in  teething. 

Whoever  saluted  the  nape  of  his  neck. 

Where  the  mark  remained  visible  still  of  the  knife. 

Notwithstanding  east  winds  perspiration  might  check. 
Was  safe  from  sore  throat  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Thus,  while  each  acute  and  each  chronic  complaint 
Giving  way,  proved  an  influence  clearly  divine, 

They  perceived  the  dead  gentleman  must  be  a  Saint, 
So  they  locked  him  up,  body  and  bones,  in  a  shrine. 

Through  country  and  town  his  new  Saintship's  renown 
As  a  first-rate  physician  kept  daily  increasing, 

Till,  as  Alderman  Curtis  told  Alderman  Brown, 
It  seemed  as  if  "  wonders  had  never  done  ceasing.^* 

The  Three  Kings  of  Cologne  began,  it  was  known, 

A  sad  falling  off"  in  their  ofl" rings  to  find, 
His  feats  were  so  many — still  the  greatest  of  any, 

In  every  sense  of  the  word,  was — behind ; 

For  the  German  Police  were  beginning  to  cease 

From  exertions  which  each  day  more  fruitless  appeared, 

When  Gengulphus  himself,  his  fame  still  to  increase, 
Unravelled  the  whole  by  the  help  of — his  beard ! 

If  you  look  back  you'll  see  the  aforesaid  harhe  gris, 

When  divorced  from  the  chin  of  its  murdered  proprietor. 

Had  been  stufi*ed  in  the  seat  of  a  kind  of  settee, 
Or  double-armed  chair,  to  keep  the  thing  quieter. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.    GENGULPHUS.  187 

It  may  seem  rather  strange  that  it  did  not  arrange 
Itself  in  its  place  when  the  limbs  joined  together ; 

P'rhaps  it  could  not  get  out,  for  the  cushion  was  stout, 
And  constructed  of  good,  strong,  maroon-colored  leather. 

Or,  what  is  more  likely,  Gengulphus  might  choose, — 
For  Saints,  e'en  when  dead,  still  retain  their  volition, — 

It  should  rest  there,  to  aid  some  particular  views 
Produced  by  his  very  peculiar  position. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  on  the  very  first  day 

That  the  widow  Gengulphus  sat  down  on  that  settee, 

What  occurred  almost  frightened  her  senses  away. 
Beside  scaring  her  handmaidens,  Gertrude  and  Betty. 

They  were  telling  their  mistress  the  wonderful  deeds 

Of  the  new  Saint,  to  whom  all  the  Town  said  their  orisons : 

And  especially  how,  as  regards  invalids, 

His  miraculous  cures  far  outrivalled  Von  Morison's. 

"  The  cripples,"  said  they,  "  fling  their  crutches  away, 
And  people  born  blind  now  can  easily  see  us !" — 

But  she  (we  presume  a  disciple  of  Hume) 

Shook  her  head,  and  said  angrily,  "Oredat  Judoeus! 

"  Those  rascally  liars,  the  Monks  and  the  Friars, 

To  bring  grist  to  their  mill  these  devices  have  hit  on.— 

He  works  miracles !  pooh ! — I'd  believe  it  of  you 

Just  as  soon,  you  great  Geese, — or  the  Chair  that  I  sit  on !" 

The  Chair !— At  that  word,— it  seems  really  absurd, 
But  the  truth  must  be  told,— what  contortions  and  grins 

Distorted  her  face !— she  sprang  up  from  her  place 
Just  as  though  she'd  been  sitting  on  needles  and  pins ! 

For,  as  if  the  Saint's  beard  the  rash  challenge  had  heard 
Which  she  uttered,  of  what  was  beneath  her  forgetful, 

Each  particular  hair  stood  on  end  in  the  chair. 

Like  a  porcupine's  quills  when  the  animal's  fretful. 


188  A   LAY   OF  ST.    GENGULPIIUS. 

That  stout  maroon  leather  they  pierced  altogether, 

Like  tenter-hooks  holding  when  clenched  from  within  ; 

And  the  maids  cried,  "  Good  gracious !  how  very  tenacious !" 
— They  as  well  might  endeaver  to  pull  off  her  skin ! 

She  shrieked  with  the  pain,  but  all  efforts  were  vain  ; 

In  vain  did  they  strain  every  sinew  and  muscle, — 
The  cushion  stuck  fast ! — From  that  hour  to  her  last, 

She  could  never  get  rid  of  that  comfortless  "Bustle"! 

And  e'en  as  Macbeth,  when  devising  the  death 

Of  his  King,  heard  "  the  very  stones  prate  of  his  whereabouts," 
So  this  shocking  bad  wife  heard  a  voice  all  her  life 

Crying  "  Murder !"  resound  from  the  cushion — or  thereabouts. 

"With  regard  to  the  Clerk,  we  are  left  in  the  dark 
As  to  what  his  fate  was ;  but  I  cannot  imagine  he 

Got  off  scot-free,  though  unnoticed  it  be 

Both  by  Ribadaneira  and  Jacques  de  Voragine ; 

For  cut-throats,  we're  sure,  can  be  never  secure. 

And  "History's  Muse"  still  to  prove  it  her  pen  holds, 

As  you'll  see  if  you  look  in  a  rather  scarce  book, 

"  God's  Revenge  against  Murder"  by  one  Mr.  Reynolds. 

MORAL. 

Now,  you  grave  married  Pilgrims,  who  wander  away, 
Like  Ulysses  of  old*  {vide  Homer  and  Naso), 

Don't  lengthen  your  stay  to  three  years  and  a  day, 

And  when  you  are  coming  home,  just  write  and  say  so! 

And  you,  learned  Clerks,  who're  not  given  to  roam. 
Stick  close  to  your  books,  nor  lose  sight  of  decorum ; 

Don't  visit  a  house  when  the  master's  from  home ! 
Shun  drinking, — and  study  the  "  Vitce  Sanctorum." 

Above  all,  you  gay  ladies,  who  fancy  neglect 
In  your  spouses,  allow  not  your  patience  to  fail ; 

But  remember  Gengulphus's  wife !  and  reflect 
On  the  moral  enforced  by  my  terrible  tale  1 

*  Qui  mores  Hominum  multorum  vidit  et  urbes. 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ODILLE.  189 

Mr.  Barney  Maguire  has  laid  claim  to  the  next  Saint  as  a 

countrywoman ;  and  "  Why  wouldn't  he,"  when  all  the  world 

knows  the  O'Dells  were  a  fine  ould  ancient  family,  sated  in 

Tipperary 

"  Ere  the  Lord  Mayor  stole  his  collar  of  gowld, 
And  sowld  it  away  to  a  trader"?* 

He  is  manifestly  wrong ;  but,  as  he  very  rationally  observes, 
"  No  matter  for  that, — she's  a  Saint  any  way!" 

^Tibe  ilag  Of  St.  <©tiille. 

ODILLE  was  a  maid  of  a  dignified  race : 
Her  father,  Count  Otto,  was  lord  of  Alsace ; 
Such  an  air,  such  a  grace,    Such  a  form,  such  a  face, 
All  agreed,  'twere  a  fruitless  endeavor  to  trace 
In  the  Court,  or  within  fifty  miles  of  the  place. 
Many  ladies  in  Strasburg  were  beautiful,  still 
They  were  beat  all  to  sticks  by  the  lovely  Odille. 

But  Odille  was  devout,  and,  before  she  was  nine, 
Had  "  experienced  a  call "  she  considered  divine, 
To  put  on  the  veil  at  St.  Ermengarde's  shrine. — 
Lords,  Dukes,  and  Electors,  and  Counts  Palatine, 
Came  to  seek  her  in  marriage  from  both  sides  the  Rhine ; 

But  vain  their  design.    They  are  all  left  to  pine, 
Their  oglings  and  smiles  are  all  useless ;  in  fine, 
Not  one  of  these  gentlefolks,  try  as  they  wiU, 
Can  draw  "  Ask  my  papa"  from  the  cruel  Odille. 

At  length  one  of  her  suitors,  a  certain  Count  Herman, 
A  highly  respectable  man  as  a  German, 
Who  smoked  like  a  chimney,  and  drank  like  a  Merman, 
Paid  his  court  to  her  father,  conceiving  his  firman 

*  The  "  Inglorious  Memory  "  of  this  ould  ancient  transaction  is  still,  we  understand, 
kept  up  in  Dublin  by  an  annual  proclamation  at  one  of  the  city  gates.  The  jewel 
which  has  replaced  the  abstracted  ornament  is  said  to  have  been  presented  by  King 
William,  and  worn  by  Daniel  O'Connell,  Esq. 


190  THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ODILLE. 

Would  soon  make  her  bend,     And  induce  her  to  lend 
An  ear  to  a  love-tale  in  lieu  of  a  sermon. 
He  gained  the  old  Count,  who  said,  "  Come,  Mynheer,  fill ! — 
Here's  luck  to  yourself  and  my  daughter  Odille !" 

The  Lady  Odille  was  quite  nervous  with  fear 
When  a  little  bird  whispered  that  toast  in  her  ear ; 
She  murmured,  "  Oh  dear !  my  Papa  has  got  queer, 
I  am  sadly  afraid,  with  that  nasty  strong  beer ! 
He's  so  very  austere,  and  severe,  that  it's  clear, 
If  he  gets  in  his  '  tantrums,'  I  can't  remain  here ; 
But  St.  Ermengarde's  convent  is  luckily  near : 
It  were  folly  to  stay    Pour  prendre  conge, 
I  shall  put  on  my  bonnet  and  e'en  run  away !" 
— She  unlocked  the  back  door  and  descended  the  hill, 
On  whose  crest  stood  the  towers  of  the  sire  of  Odille. 

— When  he  found  she'd  levanted,  the  Count  of  Alsace 
At  first  turned  remarkably  red  in  the  face ; 
He  anathematized,  with  much  unction  and  grace, 
Every  soul  who  came  near,  and  consigned  the  whole  race 
Of  runaway  girls  to  a  very  warm  place ; 

With  a  frightful  grimace    He  gave  orders  for  chase ; 
His  vassals  set  ofi"  at  a  deuce  of  a  pace. 
And  of  all  whom  they  met,  high  or  low.  Jack  or  Jill, 
Asked,  "  Pray  have  you  seen  anything  of  Lady  Odille  T' 

Now  I  think  I've  been  told, — for  I'm  no  sporting  man, — 
That  the  "  knowing  ones "  call  this  by  far  the  best  plan, 
"  Take  the  lead  and  then  keep  it !" — that  is,  if  you  can. — 
Odille  thought  so  too,  so  she  set  ofi"  and  ran, 

Put  her  best  leg  before.     Starting  at  score. 
As  I  said  some  lines  since,  from  that  little  back  door, 
And,  not  being  missed  until  half  after  four. 
Had  what  hunters  call  "  law  "  for  a  good  hour  and  more ; 

Doing  her  best.     Without  stopping  to  rest, 
Like  "  Young  Lochinvar  who  came  out  of  the  West." 
"  'Tis  done ! — I  am  gone ! — over  briar,  brook,  and  rill. 
They'll  be  sharp  lads  who  catch  me !"  said  young  Miss  Odille. 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ODILLE.  191 

But  you've  all  read  in  ^sop,  or  Phsedrus,  or  Gay, 
How  a  tortoise  and  hare  ran  together  one  day ; 

How  the  hare,  making  play,  "  Progressed  right  slick  away," 
As  "  them  tarnation  chaps"  the  Americans  say ; 
While  the  tortoise,  whose  figure  is  rather  outre 
For  racing,  crawled  straight  on,  without  let  or  stay, 
Having  no  post-horse  duty  or  turnpikes  to  pay. 

Till,  ere  noon's  ruddy  ray    Changed  to  eve's  sober  gray, 
Though  her  form  and  obesity  caused  some  delay, 
Perseverance  and  patience  brought  up  her  lee-way. 
And  she  chased  her  fleet-footed  "  praycursor"  until 
She  o'ertook  her  at  last ; — so  it  fared  with  Odille ! 

For  although,  as  I  said,  she  ran  gayly  at  first. 

And  showed  no  inclination  to  pause,  if  she  durst, 

She  at  length  felt  opprest  with  the  heat,  and  with  thirst 

Its  usual  attendant ;  nor  was  that  the  worst, — • 

Her  shoes  went  down  at  heel ;  at  last  one  of  them  burst. 

Now  a  gentleman  smiles    At  a  trot  of  ten  miles ; 
But  not  so  the  Fair ;  then  consider  the  stiles. 
And  as  then  ladies  seldom  wore  things  with  a  frill 
Round  the  ankle,  these  stiles  sadly  bothered  Odille. 

Still,  despite  all  the  obstacles  placed  in  her  track, 

She  kept  steadily  on,  though  the  terrible  crack 

In  her  shoe  made  of  course  her  progression  more  slack, 

Till  she  reached  the  Swartz  Forest  (in  English  the  Black) ; 

I  cannot  divine    How  the  boundary  line 
Was  passed  which  is  somewhere  there  formed  by  the  Rhine — • 

Perhaps  she'd  the  knack    To  float  o'er  on  her  back — 
Or,  perhaps,  cross'd  the  old  bridge  of  boats  at  Brisach 
(Which  Vauban,  some  years  after,  secured  from  attack 
By  a  bastion  of  stone  which  the  Germans  call  "  Wacke  ") ; 
All  I  know  is,  she  took  not  so  much  as  a  snack. 
Till,  hungry  and  worn,  feeling  wretchedly  ill. 
On  a  mountain's  brow  sank  down  the  weary  Odille. 

I  said  on  its  "  brow,"  but  I  should  have  said  "  crown," 
For  'twas  quite  on  the  summit,  bleak,  barren,  and  brown. 


192  THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ODILLE. 

And  so  high  that  'twas  frightful  indeed  to  look  down 
Upon  Friburg,  a  place  of  some  little  renown, 
Tluit  lay  at  its  foot ;  but  imagine  the  frown 
That  contracted  her  brow,  when  full  many  a  clown 
She  perceived  coming  up  from  that  horrid  post-town. 

They  had  followed  her  trail. 

And  now  thought  without  fail, 
As  little  boys  say,  to  "  lay  salt  on  her  tail ;" 
While  the  Count,  who  knew  no  other  law  but  his  will. 
Swore  that  Herman  that  evening  should  marry  Odille. 

Alas,  for  Odille !  poor  dear !  what  could  she  do  ? 
Her  father's  retainers  now  had  her  in  view, 
As  she  found  from  their  raising  a  joyous  halloo ; 
While  the  Count,  riding  on  at  the  head  of  his  crew, 
In  their  snuff-colored  doublets  and  breeches  of  blue. 
Was  huzzaing  and  urging  them  on  to  pursue — 

What,  indeed,  could  she  do  ?    She  very  well  knew 
If  they  caught  her  how  much  she  should  have  to  go  through ; 
But  then — she'd  so  shocking  a  hole  in  her  shoe ! 
And  to  go  further  on  was  impossible ; — true 
She  might  jump  o'er  the  precipice ; — still  there  are  few. 
In  her  place,  who  could  manage  their  courage  to  screw 
Up  to  bidding  the  world  such  a  sudden  adieu : — 
Alack !  how  she  envied  the  birds  as  they  flew ; 
'No  Nassau  balloon,  with  its  wicker  canoe. 
Came  to  bear  her  from  him  she  loathed  worse  than  a  Jew ; 
So  she  fell  on  her  knees  in  a  terrible  stew. 

Crying,  "  Holy  St.  Ermengarde ! 

Oh,  from  these  vermin  guard 
Her  whose  last  hope  rests  entirely  on  you ; — 
Don't  let  papa  catch  me,  dear  Saint ! — rather  kill 
At  once,  sur-le-champ,  your  devoted  Odille !" 

It's  delightful  to  see  those  who  strive  to  oppress 

Get  balked  when  they  think  themselves  sure  of  success. 

The  Saint  came  to  the  rescue ! — J  fairly  confess 

I  don't  see,  as  a  Saint,  how  she  well  could  do  less 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ODILLE.  193 

rhan  to  get  such  a  votary  out  of  her  mess. 

Ddille  had  scarce  closed  her  pathetic  address 

VVheu  the  rock,  gaping  wide  as  the  Thames  at  Sheerness, 

[iJlosed  again,  and  secured  her  within  its  recess 

In  a  natural  grotto,     Which  puzzled  Count  Otto, 
Who  could  not  conceive  where  the  deuce  she  had  got  to. 
Twas  her  voice ! — but  'twas  Vox  et  prmterea  Nil ! 
N^or  could  any  one  guess  what  was  gone  with  Odille ! 

rhen  hurst  from  the  mountain  a  splendor  that  quite 

Eclipsed,  in  its  brilliance,  the  finest  Bude  light, 

A.nd  there  stood  St.  Ermengarde,  drest  all  in  white, 

A.  palm-branch  in  her  left  hand,  her  beads  in  her  right ; 

While,  with  faces  fresh  gilt,  and  with  wings  burnished  bright, 

A.  great  many  little  boys'  heads  took  their  flight 

A.bove  and  around  to  a  very  great  height, 

A.nd  seemed  pretty  lively  considering  their  plight. 

Since  every  one  saw,     With  amazement  and  awe, 
Fhey  could  never  sit  down,  for  they  hadn't  de  quoi. — 

All  at  the  sight.     From  the  knave  to  the  knight, 
Felt  a  very  unpleasant  sensation,  called  fright ; 

While  the  Saint,  looking  down     With  a  terrible  frown, 
Said,  "  My  Lords,  you  are  done  most  remarkably  brown ! — 
[  am  really  ashamed  of  you  both  ; — my  nerves  thrill 
A.t  your  scandalous  conduct  to  poor  dear  Odille ! 

■*  Come,  make  yourselves  scarce ! — it  is  useless  to  stay, 
You  will  gain  nothing  here  by  a  longer  delay. 
■  Quick !  Presto !  Begone !'  as  the  conjurers  say ; 
For  as  to  the  lady,  I've  stowed  her  away 
En  this  hill,  in  a  stratum  of  London  blue  clay ; 
And  I  shan't,  I  assure  you,  restore  her  to-day 
Till  you  faithfully  promise  no  more  to  say  *  Nay,' 
But  declare,  *  if  she  will  be  a  nun,  why  she  may.' 
For  this  you've  my  word,  and  I  never  yet  broke  it ! — 
5o  put  that  in  your  pipe,  my  Lord  Otto,  and  smoke  it ! — 
One  hint  to  your  vassals, — a  month  at  '  the  Slill ' 
Shall  be  nuts  to  what  they'll  get  who  worry  Odille !" 
13 


194     .  THE  LAY  OF  ST.    ODILLE. 

The  Saint  disappeared  as  she  ended,  and  so 

Did  the  little  boys'  heads,  which,  above  and  below. 

As  I  told  you  a  very  few  stanzas  ago, 

Had  been  flying  about  her,  and  jumping  Jim  Crow; 

Though,  without  any  body,  or  leg,  foot,  or  toe, 

How  they  managed  such  antics,  I  really  don't  know ; 

Be  that  as  it  may,  they  all  "  melted  like  snow 

Off  a  dyke,"  as  the  Scotch  say  in  sweet  Edinbro', 

And  there  stood  the  Count,     With  his  men,  on  the  mount, 
Just  like  "  twenty-four  jackasses  all  on  a  row." 
What  was  best  to  be  done — 'twas  a  sad  bitter  pill — 
But  gulp  it  he  must,  or  else  lose  his  Odille. 

The  lord  of  Alsace  therefore  altered  his  plan. 

And  said  to  himself,  like  a  sensible  man, 

"  I  can't  do  as  I  would, — I  must  do  as  I  can ; 

It  will  not  do  to  lie  under  any  Saint's  ban, 

For  your  hide,  when  you  do,  they  all  manage  to  tan ; 

So  Count  Herman  must  pick  uj)  some  Betsy  or  Nan, 

Instead  of  my  girl, — some  Sue,  Polly,  or  Fan ; — 

If  he  can't  get  the  corn  he  must  do  with  the  bran, 

And  make  shift  with  the  pot  if  he  can't  have  the  pan." 

With  such  proverbs  as  these    He  went  down  on  his  kneeS, 
And  said,  "  Blessed  St.  Ermengarde,  just  as  you  please — 
They  shall  build  a  new  convent, — I'll  pay  the  whole  bill 
(Taking  discount), — its  Abbess  shall  be  my  Odille." 

There  are  some  of  my  readers,  I'll  venture  to  say. 

Who  have  never  seen  Friburg,  though  some  of  them  may, 

And  others,  'tis  likely,  may  go  there  some  day. 

Now,  if  ever  you  happen  to  travel  that  way, 

I  do  beg  and  pray, — 'twill  your  pains  well  repay, — 

That  you'll  take  what  the  Cockney  folks  call  a  "  po-shay " 

(Though  in  Germany  these  things  are  more  like  a  dray). 

You  may  reach  this  same  hill  with  a  single  relay, — 

And  do  look  how  the  rock.    Through  the  whole  of  its  block, 
Is  split  open,  as  though  by  some  violent  shock 
From  an  earthquake,  or  lightning,  or  horrid  hard  knock 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   ODILLE.  195 

^'rom  the  club-bearing  fist  of  some  jolly  old  cock 
)f  a  Germanized  giant,  Thor,  "Woden,  or  Lok ; 

And  see  how  it  rears     Its  two  monstrous  great  ears, 
^or  when  once  you're  between  them  such  each  side  appears ; 
Lnd  list  to  the  sound  of  the  water  one  hears 
)rip,  drip,  from  the  fissures,  like  raindrops  or  tears, — 
)dille's,  I  believe, — which  have  flowed  all  these  years ; 
—I  think  they  account  for  them  so ; — but  the  rill 
am  sure  is  connected  some  way  with  Odille. 

MOEAL. 

^ow  then  for  a  moral,  which  always  arrives 
Lt  the  end,  like  the  honey-bees  take  to  their  hives, 
Lnd  the  more  one  observes  it  the  better  one  thrives, — 
No,  have  all  heard  it  said  in  the  course  of  our  lives, 
Needs  must  when  a  certain  old  gentleman  drives  j" 
lis  the  same  with  a  lady, — if  once  she  contrives 
?o  get  hold  of  the  ribbons,  how  vainly  one  strives 
?o  escape  from  her  lash  or  to  shake  off  her  gyves ! 
i'hen  let's  act  like  Count  Otto,  and  while  one  survives, 
luccumb  to  our  She-Saints — videlicet  wives ! 

{Adde^ 
?hat  is,  if  one  has  not  "a  good  bunch  of  fives." — 
I  can't  think  how  that  last  line  escaped  from  my  quill, 
''or  I'm  sure  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  Odille.) 

Now,  young  ladies,  to  you : —    Don't  put  on  the  shrew ! — 
^nd  don't  be  surprised  if  your  father  looks  blue 
Vhen  you're  pert,  and  won't  act  as  he  wants  you  to  do ! 
5e  sure  that  you  never  elope; — there  are  few, — 
Relieve  me,  you'll  find  what  I  say  to  be  true, — 
iVho  run  restive,  but  find  as  they  bake  they  must  brew, 
^nd  come  off  at  last  with  "  a  hole  in  their  shoe ;" 
since  not  even  Clapham,  that  sanctified  ville, 
>an  produce  enough  saints  to  save  every  Odille. 


196  A  LAY   OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

NjcoIaK,  t2tt?S"  of  2f  tstt"'^  of  ^anfracjef,  bjaK  iomj  of  r^tfit  aub  i&olg^  ksitnt, 
Enli  i)ij5  fabtr  teas  namti)  JSpipljanus,  an&  {)i5  mote  3of)ant. 

He  was  born  on  a  cold  frosty  morning,  on  the  6th  of  Decem- 
ber (upon  which  clay  his  feast  is  still  observed),  but  in  what 
anno  Domini  is  not  so  clear ;  his  baptismal  register,  together 
with  that  of  his  friend  and  colleague,  St.  Thomas  at  Hill,  hav- 
ing been  "  lost  in  the  great  fire  of  London." 

St.  Nicholas  was  a  great  patron  of  Mariners,  and, — saving 
your  presence, — of  Thieves  also,  which  honorable  fraternity 
have  long  rejoiced  in  the  appellation  of  his  "Clerks."  Cer- 
vantes's  story  of  Sancho's  detecting  a  sum  of  money  in  a  swin- 
dler's walking-stick  is  merely  a  Spanish  version  of  a  "  Lay  of 
St.  Nicholas"  extant  "in  choice  Italian"  a  century  before 
honest  Miguel  was  born. 

a  Eag  cf  St.  Nicholas. 

"Statim  sacerdoti  apparuit  diabolus  in  specie  puellae  pulchritudinis  mirse,  et  ecce 
Divus,  fide  catholic^,  et  cruce,  et  aqud  benedieta  armatus  venit,  et  aspersit  aquam  in 
nomine  Sanctse  et  Individuae  Trinitatis,  quam,  quasi  ardentem,  diabolus,  nequaquam 
sustinere  valens,  mugitibus  fugit." — Eogek  Hoveden. 

"  nr  OKD  Abbot !  Lord  Abbot !  I'd  fain  confess ; 

-LJ    I  am  a-weary,  and  worn  with  woe ; 
Many  a  grief  doth  my  heart  oppress. 
And  haunt  me  whithersoever  I  go !" 

On  bended  knee  spake  the  beautiful  Maid : 
"  Now  lithe  and  listen.  Lord  Abbot,  to  me !" — 

"  Now  naye.  Fair  Daughter,"  the  Lord  Abbot  said, 
"  Now  naye,  in  sooth  it  may  hardly  be. 

"  There  is  Mess  Michael,  and  holy  Mess  John, 

Sage  Penitauncers  I  ween  be  they ! 
And  hard  by  doth  dwell,  in  St.  Catherine's  cell, 

Ambrose,  the  Anchoret  old  and  gray !" 

*  Pariah. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS.  197 

— "  Oh,  I  will  have  none  of  Ambrose  or  John, 

Though  sage  Penitauncers  I  trow  they  be ; 
Shrive  me  may  none  save  the  Abbot  alone, 

Now  listen,  Lord  Abbot,  I  speak  to  thee. 

"  Nor  think  foul  scorn,  though  mitr^  adorn 

Thy  brow,  to  listen  to  shrift  of  mine ! 
I  am  a  Maiden  royally  born, 

And  I  come  of  old  Plantagenet's  line. 

"  Though  hither  I  stray  in  lowly  array, 

I  am  a  damsel  of  high  degree ; 
And  the  Compte  of  Eu,  and  the  Lord  of  Ponthieu, 

They  serve  my  father  on  bended  knee ! 

"  Counts  a  many,  and  Dukes  a  few, 

A  suitoring  came  to  my  father's  Hall ; 
But  the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  with  his  large  domain. 

He  pleased  my  father  beyond  them  all. 

"  Dukes  a  many,  and  Counts  a  few, 

I  would  have  wedded  right  cheerfullie ; 
But  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  was  uncommonly  plain. 

And  I  vow'd  that  he  ne'er  should  my  bridegroom  be ! 

"  So  hither  I  fly,  in  lowly  guise, 

From  their  gilded  domes  and  their  princely  halls ; 
Fain  would  I  dwell  in  some  holy  cell, 

Or  within  some  Convent's  peaceful  walls  I" 

— Then  out  and  spake  that  proud  Lord  Abbot, 
"  Now  rest  thee.  Fair  Daughter,  withouten  fear, 

Nor  Count  nor  Duke  but  shall  meet  the  rebuke 
Of  Holy  Church  an  he  seek  thee  here : 

"  Holy  Church  denieth  all  search 

'Midst  her  sanctified  ewes  and  her  saintly  rams, 
And  the  wolves  doth  mock  who  would  scathe  her  flock, 

Or,  especially,  worry  her  little  pet  lambs. 


198  A  LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

"Then  lay,  Fair  Daughter,  thy  fears  aside, 
For  here  this  day  shalt  thou  dine  with  me !" — 

"  Now  naye,  now  naye,"  the  fair  maiden  cried ; 
"  In  sooth.  Lord  Abbot,  that  scarce  may  be  I 

"  Friends  would  whisper,  and  foes  would  frown, 
Sith  thou  art  a  Churchman  of  high  degree, 

And  ill  mote  it  match  with  thy  fair  renown 
That  a  wandering  damsel  dine  with  thee ! 

"  There  is  Simon  the  Deacon  hath  pulse  in  store, 

With  beans  and  lettuces  fair  to  see ; 
His  lenten  fair  now  let  me  share, 

I  pray  thee,  Lord  Abbot,  in  charitie !" 

— "  Though  Simon  the  Deacon  hath  pulse  in  store, 
To  our  patron  Saint  foul  shame  it  were 

Should  wayworn  guest,  with  toil  oppressed, 
Meet  in  his  Abbey  such  churlish  fare. 

"  There  is  Peter  the  Prior,  and  Francis  the  Friar, 
And  Roger  the  Monk  shall  our  convives  be ; 

Small  scandal  I  ween  shall  then  be  seen ; 
They  are  a  goodly  companie !" 

The  Abbot  hath  donned  his  mitre  and  ring, 
His  rich  dalmatic,  and  maniple  fine ; 

And  the  choristers  sing,  as  the  lay-brothers  bring 
To  the  board  a  magnificent  turkey  and  chine. 

The  turkey  and  chine,  they  are  done  to  a  nicety ; 

Liver,  and  gizzard,  and  all  are  there  ; 
Ne'er  mote  Lord  Abbot  pronounce  Benedicite 

Over  more  luscious  or  delicate  fare. 

But  no  pious  stave,  no  Pater  or  Ave, 

Pronounced,  as  he  gazed  on  that  maiden's  face ; 

She  asked  him  for  stuifing,  she  asked  him  for  gravy. 
She  asked  him  for  gizzard ; — but  not  for  Grace  I 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS.  }99 

Yet  gayly  the  Lord  Abbot  smiled,  and  pressed, 
And  the  blood-red  wine  in  the  wine-cup  filled  ; 

And  he  helped  his  guest  to  a  bit  of  the  breast. 
And  he  sent  the  drumsticks  down  to  be  grilled. 

There  was  no  lack  of  old  Sherris  sack, 

Of  Hippocras  fine,  or  of  Malmsey  bright ; 
And  aye,  as  he  drained  off  his  cup  with  a  smack, 

He  grew  less  pious  and  more  polite. 

She  pledged  him  once,  and  she  pledged  him  twice, 
And  she  drank  as  Lady  ought  not  to  drink ; 

And  he  pressed  her  hand  'neath  the  table  thrice, 
And  he  winked  as  Abbot  ought  not  to  wink. 

And  Peter  the  Prior,  and  Francis  the  Friar, 

Sat  each  with  a  napkin  under  his  chin ; 
But  Roger  the  Monk  got  excessively  drunk. 

So  they  put  him  to  bed,  and  they  tucked  him  in ! 

The  lay-brothers  gazed  on  each  other,  amazed ; 

And  Simon  the  Deacon,  with  grief  and  surprise, 
As  he  peeped  through  the  keyhole,  could  scarce  fancy  real 

The  scene  he  beheld,  or  believe  his  own  eyes.  * 

In  his  ear  was  ringing  the  Lord  Abbot  singing, — 
He  could  not  distinguish  the  words  very  plain. 

But  'twas  all  about  "Cole,"  and  "jolly  old  Soul," 

And  "Fiddlers,"  and  "Punch,"  and  things  quite  as  profane. 

Even  Porter  Paul,  at  the  sound  of  such  revelling. 

With  fervor  himself  began  to  bless  ; 
For  he  thought  he  must  somehow  have  let  the  Devil  in, — 

And  perhaps  was  not  very  much  out  in  his  guess. 

The  Accusing  Byers*  "  flew  up  to  Heaven's  Chancery," 
Blushing  like  scarlet  with  shame  and  concern  ; 

The  Archangel  took  down  his  tale,  and  in  answer  he 
Wept— (See  the  works  of  the  late  Mr.  Sterne). 

*  The  Prince  of  Peripatetic  Informers,  and  terror  of  StaRC  Coachmen,  when  such 
things  were.    Alack !  alack !  the  Bailroada  have  ruined  his  "  vested  interest." 


200  A  LAY  OF  ST.  mCHOLAS. 

Indeed,  it  is  said,  a  less  taking  both  were  in 
When,  after  a  lapse  of  a  great  many  years, 

They  booked  Uncle  Toby  five  shillings  for  swearing. 
And  blotted  the  fine  out  again  with  their  tears ! 

But  St.  Nicholas'  agony  who  may  paint? 

His  senses  at  first  were  well-nigh  gone ; 
The  beatified  saint  was  ready  to  faint 

When  he  saw  in  his  Abbey  such  sad  goings  on ! 

For  never,  I  ween,  had  such  doings  been  seen 

There  before,  from  the  time  that  most  excellent  Prince, 

Earl  Baldwin  of  Flanders,  and  other  Commanders, 
Had  built  and  endowed  it  some  centuries  since. 

— But  hark ! — 'tis  a  sound  from  the  outermost  gate ! 
A  startling  sound  from  a  powerful  blow. — 
■    Who  knocks  so  late  ? — it  is  half  after  eight 

By  the  clock, — and  the  clock's  five  minutes  too  slow. 

Never,  perhaps,  had  such  loud  double  raps 
Been  heard  in  St.  Nicholas'  Abbey  before ; 

All  agreed  "  it  was  shocking  to  keep  people  knocking,'* 
But  none  seemed  inclined  to  "  answer  the  door." 

Now  a  louder  bang  through  the  cloisters  rang, 
And  the  gate  on  its  hinges  wide  open  flew ; 

And  all  were  aware  of  a  Palmer  there, 

With  his  cockle  hat,  stafi",  and  his  sandal  shoe. 

Many  a  furrow  and  many  a  frown 

By  toil  and  time  on  his  brow  were  traced ; 

And  his  long  loose  gown  was  of  ginger  brown. 
And  his  rosary  dangled  below  his  waist. 

Now  seldom,  I  ween,  is  such  costume  seen, 

Except  at  a  stage-play  or  masquerade ; 
But  who  doth  not  know  it  was  rather  the  go 

With  Pilgrims  and  Saints  in  the  second  Crusade  ? 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS.  201 

With  noiseless  stride  did  that  Palmer  glide 

Across  that  oaken  floor ; 
And  he  made  them  all  jump,  he  gave  such  a  thump 

Against  the  Refectory  door  I 

Wide  open  it  flew,  and  plain  to  the  view 

The  Lord  Abbot  they  all  mote  see ; 
In  his  hand  was  a  cup,  and  he  lifted  it  up, 

"  Here's  the  Pope's  good  health  with  three ! !" 

Rang  in  their  ears  three  deafening  cheers, 

"  Huzza !  huzza !  huzza !" 
And  one  of  the  party  said,  "  Go  it,  my  hearty !" — 

When  out  spake  that  Pilgrim  gray — 

"A  boon.  Lord  Abbot !  a  boon !  a  boon ! 

Worn  is  my  foot,  and  empty  my»scrip ; 
And  nothing  to  speak  of  since  yesterday  noon    • 

Of  food,  Lord  Abbot,  hath  passed  my  lip. 

"And  I  am  come  from  a  far  countree, 

And  have  visited  many  a  holy  shrine ; 
And  long  have  I  trod  the  sacred  sod 

Where  the  Saints  do  rest  in  Palestine !" — 

"  An  thou  art  come  from  a  far  countree,  ^ 

And  if  thou  in  Paynim  lands  hast  been. 
Now  rede  me  aright  the  most  wonderful  sight, 

Thou  Palmer  gray,  that  thine  eyes  have  seen. 

"Arede  me  aright  the  most  woilderful  sight, 

Gray  Palmer,  that  ever  thine  eyes  did  see, 
And  a  manchette  of  bread,  and  a  good  warm  bed, 

And  a  cup  o'  the  best,  shall  thy  guerdon  be !" 

"  Oh !  I  have  been  east,  and  I  have  been  west, 

And  I  have  seen  many  a  wonderful  sight ; 
But  never  to  me  did  it  happen  to  see 

A  wonder  like  that  which  I  see  this  night ! 


202  A  LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

"  To  see  a  Lord  Abbot,  in  rochet  and  stole, 

With  Prior  and  Friar, — a  strange  mai'-velle ! — 

O'er  a  jolly  full  bowl  sitting  cheek  by  jowl. 

And  hob-nobbing  away  with  a  Devil  from  Hell  1" 

He  felt  in  his  gown  of  ginger  brown, 
And  he  pulled  out  a  flask  frona  beneath ; 

It  was  rather  tough  work  to  get  out  the  cork. 
But  he  drew  it  at  last  with  his  teeth. 

O'er  a  pint  and  a  quarter  of  holy  water, 

He  made  a  sacred  sign  ; 
And  he  dashed  the  whole  on  the  soi-disant  daughter 

Of  old  Plantagenet's  line ! 

Oh !  then  did  she  reek,  and  squeak,  and  shriek, 

With  a  wild  unearthly  scream ; 
And  fizzled,  and  hissed,  and  produced  such  a  mist. 

They  were  all  half  choked  by  the  steam. 

Her  dove-like  eyes  turned  to  coals  of  fire, 

Her  beautiful  nose  to  a  horrible  snout, 
Her  hands  to  paws,  with  nasty  great  claws, 

And  her  bosom  went  in,  and  her  tail  came  out. 

OnJier  chin  there  appeared  a  long  Nanny-goat's  beard, 
And  her  tusks  and  her  teeth  no  man  mote  tell ; 

And  her  horns  and  her  hoofs  gave  infallible  proofs 
'Twas  a  frightful  fiend  from  the  nethermost  hell ! 

The  Palmer  threw  down  l^s  ginger  gown, 
His  hat  and  his  cockle,  and,  plain  to  sight, 

Stood  St.  Nicholas'  self,  and  his  shaven  crown 
Had  a  glow-worm  halo  of  heavenly  light. 

The  fiend  made  a  grasp  the  Abbot  to  clasp ; 

But  St.  Nicholas  lifted  his  holy  toe. 
And,  just  in  the  nick,  let  fly  such  a  kick 

On  his  elderly  Namesake,  he  made  him  let  go. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  NI  OHO  LAS.  203 

And  out  of  the  window  he  flew  like  a  shot, 
For  the  foot  flew  up  with  a  terrible  thwack, 

And  caught  the  foul  demon  about  the  spot 

Where  his  tail  joins  on  to  the  small  of  his  back. 

And  he  bounded  away  like  a  foot-ball  at  play. 

Till  into  the  bottomless  pit  he  fell  slap, 
Knocking  Mammon  the  meagre  o'er  pursy  Belphegor, 

And  Lucifer  into  Beelzebub's  lap. 

Oh !  happy  the  slip  from  his  Succubine  grip 

That  saved  the  Lord  Abbot — though,  breathless  with  fright, 
In  escaping  he  tumbled,  and  fractured  his  hip, 

And  his  left  leg  was  shorter  thenceforth  than  his  right ! 


On  the  banks  of  the  Khine,  as  he's  stopping  to  dine, 
From  a  certain  Inn-window  the  traveller  is  shown 

Most  picturesque  ruins,  the  scene  of  these  doings, 
Some  miles  up  the  river,  southeast  of  Cologne. 

And,  while  "sour-kraut"  she  sells  you,  the  landlady  tells  you 
That  there,  in  those  walls,  now  all  roofless  and  bare. 

One  Simon,  a  Deacon,  from  a  lean  grew  a  sleek  one, 
On  filling  a  ci-devant  Abbot's  state  chair. 

How  a  ci-devant  Abbot,  all  clothed  in  drab,  but 
Of  texture  the  coarsest,  hair  shirt,  and  no  shoes 

(His  mitre  and  ring,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Laid  aside),  in  yon  Cave  lived  a  pious  recluse ; 

How  he  rose  with  the  sun,  limping  "  dot  and  go  one  " 
To  yon  rill  of  the  mountain,  in  all  sorts  of  weather. 

Where  a  Prior  and  a  Friar,  who  lived  somewhat  higher 
Up  the  rock,  used  to  come  and  eat  cresses  together ; 

How  a  thirsty  old  codger,  the  neighbors  called  Roger, 
With  them  drank  cold  water  in  lieu  of  old  wine  I 


■204  A   LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

What  its  quality  wanted  he  made  up  in  quantity, 
Swigging  as  though  he  would  empty  the  Rhine ! 

And  how,  as  their  bodily  strength  failed,  the  mental  man 

Gained  tenfold  vigor  and  force  in  all  four  ; 
And  how,  to  the  day  of  their  death,  the  "  Old  Gentleman" 

Never  attempted  to  kidnap  them  more. 

And  how,  when  at  length,  in  the  odor  of  sanctity, 
All  of  them  died  without  grief  or  complaint. 

The  Monks  of  St.  Nicholas  said  'twas  ridiculous 
Not  to  suppose  every  one  was  a  Saint. 

And  how,  in  the  Abbey,  no  one  was  so  shabby 

As  not  to  say  yearly  four  masses  a  head. 
On  the  eve  of  that  supper,  and  kick  on  the  crupper 

Which  Satan  received,  for  the  souls  of  the  dead ! 

How  folks  long  held  in  reverence  their  reliques  and  memories, 
How  the  ci-devant  Abbot's  obtained  greater  still. 

When  some  cripples,  on  touching  his  fractured  os  femoris, 
Threw  down  their  crutches  and  danced  a  quadrille ! 

And  how  Abbot  Simon  (who  turned  out  a  prime  one) 

These  words,  which  grew  into  a  proverb  full  soon, 
O'er  the  late  Abbot's  grotto  stuck  up  as  a  motto, 

*'  2]2ai)0  suppes  luiti)  t\)(  BtUiU  sljolUf  i)abf  a  long 
spoon?  I" 


RoHESiA,  daughter  of  Ambrose,  and  sister  to  Sir  Everard 
Ingoldsby,  was  born  about  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, and  was  married  in  1526,  at  St.  Giles's,  Cripplegate,  in 
the  city  of  London.  The  following  narrative  contains  all  else 
that  is  known  of 


THE  LADY  ROHESIA.  205 


THE  Lady  Kohesia  lay  on  her  death-bed ! 
So  said  the  doctor,  and  doctors  are  generally  allowed 
to  be  judges  in  these  matters ;  besides,  Doctor  Butts  was  the 
Court  Physician :  he  carried  a  crutch-handled  staff,  with  ita 
cross  of  the  blackest  ebony — raison  de  j)lus. 

"  Is  there  no  hope.  Doctor  ?"  said  Beatrice  Grey. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?"  said  Everard.  Ingoldsby. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri.  He  was 
the  Lady  Rohesia's  husband  ; — he  spoke  the  last. 

The  Doctor  shook  his  head.  He  looked  at  the  disconsolate 
widower  in  posse,  then  at  the  hour-glass ;  its  waning  sand 
seemed  sadly  to  shadow  forth  the  sinking  pulse  of  his  patient. 
Dr.  Butts  was  a  very  learned  man.  "  Ars  longa,  vita  brevis  /" 
said  Dr.  Butts. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  quoth  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri. 
Sir  Guy  was  a  brave  knight,  and  a  tall ;  but  he  was  no  scholar, 

"  Alas !  my  poor  sister !"  sighed  Ingoldsby. 

"Alas!  my  poor  mistress  !"  sobbed  Beatrice. 

Sir  Guy  neither  sighed  nor  sobbed ;  his  grief  was  too  deep- 
seated  for  outward  manifestation. 

"  And  how  long.  Doctor "     The  afflicted  husband  could 

not  finish  the  sentence. 

Dr.  Butts  withdrew  his  hand  from  the  wrist  of  the  dying 
lady.  He  pointed  to  the  horologe;  scarcely  a  quarter  of  its 
sand  remained  in  the  upper  moiety.  Again  he  shook  his  head. 
The  eye  of  the  patient  waxed  dimmer,  the  rattling  in  the  throat 
increased. 

"  What's  become  of  Father  Francis  ?"  whimpered  Beatrice. 

"  The  last  consolations  of  the  church "  suggested  Everard. 

A  darker  shade  came  over  the  brow  of  Sir  Guy. 

"  Where  is  the  Confessor  ?"  continued  his  grieving  brother- 
in-law. 

"  In  the  pantry,"  cried  Marion  Hacket  pertly,  as  she  tripped 
down  stairs  in  search  of  that  venerable  ecclesiastic ; — "  in  the 
pantry,  I  warrant  me."    The  bower-woman  was  not  wont  to  be 


206  THE  LADY  ROE  EST  A. 

in  the  wrong :  in  the  pantry  was  the  holy  man  discovered — at 
his  devotions. 

"Pax  vobiscum!"  said  Father  Francis,  as  he  entered  the 
chamber  of  death. 

"Vita  brevis/"  retorted  Dr.  Butts.  He  was  not  a  man  to  be 
browbeat  out  of  his  Latin, — and  by  a  paltry  Friar  Minim,  too. 
Had  it  been  a  bishopj  indeed,  or  even  a  mitred  abbot ; — but  a 
miserable  Franciscan ! 

"Benedicite!"  said  the  Friar. 

"Ars  longa!"  returned  the  Leech. 

Dr.  Butts  adjusted  the  tassels  of  his  falling  band,  drew  his 
short  sad-colored  cloak  closer  around  him,  and,  grasping  his 
cross-handled  walking-staff,  stalked  majestically  out  of  the 
apartment.     Father  Francis  had  the  field  to  himself. 

The  worthy  chaplain  hastened  to  administer  the  last  rites  of 
the  church.  To  all  appearance  he  had  little  time  to  lose.  As 
he  concluded,  the  dismal  toll  of  the  passing-bell  sounded  from 
the  belfry  tower ;  little  Hubert,  the  bandy-legged  sacristan,  was 
pulling  with  all  his  might.  It  was  a  capital  contrivance,  that 
same  passing-bell ;  which  of  the  Urbans  or  Innocents  invented 
it  is  a  query;  but,  whoever  he  was,  he  deserved  well  of  his 
country  and  of  Christendom, 

Ah  !  our  ancestors  were  not  such  fools,  after  all,  as  we,  their 
degenerate  children,  conceit  them  to  have  been.  The  passing- 
bell — a  most  solemn  warning  to  imps  of  every  description — is 
not  to  be  regarded  with  impunity ;  the  most  impudent  Sitccubus 
of  them  all  dare  as  well  dip  his  claws  in  holy  water  as  come 
within  the  verge  of  its  sound.  Old  Nick  himself,  if  he  sets 
any  value  at  all  upon  his  tail,  had  best  convey  himself  clean 
out  of  hearing,  and  leave  the  way  open  to  Paradise.  Little 
Hubert  continued  pulling  with  all  his  might — and  St.  Peter 
began  to  look  out  for  a  customer. 

The  knell  seemed  to  have  some  effect  even  upon  the  Lady 
Rohesia :  she  raised  her  head  slightly ;  inarticulate  sounds 
issued  from  her  lips, — inarticulate,  that  is,  to  the  profane  ears 
of  the  laity.  Those  of  Father  Francis,  indeed,  were  sharper ; 
nothing,  as  he  averred,  could  be  more  distinct  than  the  words, 
"  A  thousand  marks  to  the  priory  of  St.  Mary  Rouncival." 

Now  the  Lady  Rohesia  Ingoldsby  had  brought  her  husband 


THE  LADT  ROHESIA.  207 

broad  lands  and  large  possessions ;  much  of  her  ample  dowry, 
too,  was  at  her  own  disposal, — and  nuncupative  wills  had  not 
yet  been  abolished  by  act  of  Parliament. 

"Pious  soul!"  ejaculated  Father  Francis.  "A  thousand 
marks,  she  said " 

"  If  she  did  I'll  be  shot !"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Moutgomeri. 

" — A  thousand  marks!"  continued  the  Confessor,  fixing  his 
cold  gray  eye  upon  the  knight,  as  he  went  on  heedless  of  the 
interruption ; — "  a  thousand  marks !  and  as  many  Aves  and 
Paters  shall  be  duly  said — as  soon  as  the  money  is  paid  down." 

Sir  Guy  shrank  from  the  monk's  gaze;  he  turned  to  the 
mndow,  and  muttered  to  himself  something  that  sounded  like 
"  Don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it  ?" 


The  bell  continued  to  toll.  Father  Francis  had  quitted  the 
room,  taking  with  him  the  remains  of  the  holy  oil  he  had  been 
using  for  Extreme  Unction.  Everard  Ingoldsby  waited  on 
hun  down  stairs. 

"A  thousand  thanks !"  said  the  latter. 

"A  thousand  marks!"  said  the  friar. 

"  A  thousand  devils !"  growled  Sir  Guy  de  Moutgomeri  from 
the  top  of  the  landing-place. 

But  his  accents  fell  unheeded :  his  brother-in-law  and  the 
friar  were  gone ;  he  was  left  alone  with  his  departing  lady  and 
Beatrice  Grey. 

Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri  stood  pensively  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed ;  his  arms  were  crossed  ujDon  his  bosom,  his  chin  was  sunk 
upon  his  breast ;  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears ;  the  dim  rays 
of  the  fading  Avatchlight  gave  a  darker  shade  to  the  furrows  on 
his  brow,  and  a  brighter  tint  to  the  little  bald  patch  on  the  top 
of  his  head, — for  Sir  Guy  was  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  tall 
and  portly  withal,  with  a  slight  bend  in  his  shoulders,  but  that 
not  much ;  his  complexion  was  somewhat  florid,  especially  about 
the  nose ;  but  his  lady  was  in  extremis,  and  at  this  particular 
moment  he  was  paler  than  usual. 

"  Bim !  home !"  went  the  bell.  The  knight  groaned  audibly, 
Beatrice   Grey  wiped  her  eye  with   her  little   square   apron 


208  THE  LADY  ROHESIA. 

of  lace  de  Maliues ;  there  was  a  moment's  pause — a  mo- 
ment of  intense  affliction ;  slie  let  it  fall, — all  but  one  corner, 
which  remained  between  her  finger  and  thumb.  She  looked  at 
Sir  Guy ;  drew  the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  her  other  hand 
slowly  along  its  border,  till  they  reached  the  opposite  extremity. 
She  sobbed  aloud.  "  So  kind  a  lady !"  said  Beatrice  Grey. — 
"  So  excellent  a  wife !"  responded  Sir  Guy. — "  So  good !"  said 
the  damsel. — "So  dear!"  said  the  knight. — "So  pious!"  said 
she.— "So  humble!"  said  he.— "  So  good  to  the  poor!"— "So 
capital  a  manager!" — "So  punctual  at  matins!" — "Dinner 
dished  to  moment !" — "  So  devout !"  said  Beatrice. — "  So  fond 
of  me !"  said  Sir  Guy.—"  And  of  Father  Francis !"— "  What 
the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that?"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Mont- 
gomeri. 

The  knight  and  the  maiden  had  rung  their  antiphonic  changes 
on  the  fine  qualities  of  the  departing  lady,  like  the  Strophe  and 
Antistrophe  of  a  Greek  play.  The  cardinal  virtues  once  dis- 
posed of,  her  minor  excellences  came  under  review.  She  would 
drown  a  witch,  drink  lambs'  wool  at  Christmas,  beg  Dominie 
Dumps's  boys  a  holiday,  and  dine  upon  sprats  on  Good  Friday ! 
A  low  moan  from  the  subject  of  these  eulogies  seemed  to  inti- 
mate that  the  enumeration  of  her  good  deeds  was  not  alto- 
gether lost  on  her, — that  the  parting  spirit  felt  and  rejoiced  in. 
the  testimony. 

"  She  was  too  good  for  earth  !"  continued  Sir  Guy. 

**  Ye-ye-yes !"  sobbed  Beatrice. 

"  I  did  not  deserve  her !"  said  the  knight. 

"  No-o-o-o !"  cried  the  damsel. 

"  Not  but  that  I  made  her  an  excellent  husband,  and  a  kind ; 
but  she  is  going,  and — and — where,  or  when,  or  how — shall  I 
get  such  another  ?" 

"Not  in  broad  England — not  in  the  whole  wide  world!" 
responded  Beatrice  Grey ;  "  that  is,  not  just  such  another  1" 
Her  voice  still  faltered,  but  her  accents  on  the  whole  were  more 
articulate ;  she  dropped  the  corner  of  her  apron,  and  had  re- 
course to  her  handkerchief;  in  fact,  her  eyes  were  getting  red, 
— and  so  was  the  tip  of  her  nose. 

Sir  Guy  was  silent ;  he  gazed  for  a  few  moments  steadfastly 
on  the  face  of  his  lady.     The  single  word,  "  Another!"  fell  from 


THE  LADY  RON  ESI  A.  209 

his  lips  like  a  distant  echo ; — it  is  not  often  that  the  viewless 
nymph  repeats  more  than  is  necessary. 

"Bim!  home!"  went  the  bell.  Bandy-legged  Hubert  had 
been  tolling  for  half  an  hour ;  he  began  to  grow  tired,  and  St. 
Peter  fidgety. 

"  Beatrice  Grey !"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri,  "  what's  to 
be  done?  "What's  to  become  of  Montgomeri  Hall? — and  the 
buttery, — and  the  servants  ?  And  what — what's  to  become  of 
me,  Beatrice  Grey  ?"— There  was  pathos  in  his  tones,  and  a  sol- 
emn pause  succeeded.     "I'll  turn  monk  myself!"  said  Sir  Guy. 

"Monk?"  said  Beatrice. 

"  I'll  be  a  Carthusian !"  repeated  the  knight,  but  in  a  tone 
less  assured :  he  relapsed  into  a  reverie. — Shave  his  head ! — he 
did  not  so  much  mind  that, — he  was  getting  rather  bald  already  ; 
— but,  beans  for  dinner, — and  those  without  butter — and  then . 
a  horse-hair  shirt ! 

The  knight  seemed  undecided :  his  eye  roamed  gloomily 
around  the  apartment ;  it  paused  upon  difierent  objects,  but 
as  if  it  saw  them  not ;  its  sense  was  shut,  and  there  was  no 
speculation  in  its  glance :  it  rested  at  last  upon  the  fair  face  of 
the  sympathizing  damsel  at  his  side,  beautiful  in  her  grief. 

Her  tears  had  ceased ;  but  her  eyes  w  ere  cast  down,  mourn- 
fully fixed  upon  her  delicate  little  foot,  which  was  beating  the 
devil's  tattoo. 

There  is  no  talking  to  a  female  when  she  does  not  look  at 
you.  Sir  Guy  turned  round, — he  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed ;  and,  placing  his  hand  beneath  the  chin  of  the  lady, 
turned  up  her  face  in  an  angle  of  fifteen  degrees. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  take  the  vows,  Beatrice ;  but  what's  to 
become  of  me  ?  Poor,  miserable,  old — that  is,  poor,  miserable, 
middle-aged  man  that  I  am ! — No  one  to  comfort,  no  one  to 
care  for  me !" — Beatrice's  tears  flowed  afresh,  but  she  opened 
not  her  lips. — "  'Pon  my  life !"  continued  he,  "  I  don't  believe 
there  is  a  creature  now  would  care  a  button  if  I  were  hanged 
to-morrow !" 

"  Oh !  don't  say  so.  Sir  Guy !"  sighed  Beatrice ;  "  you  know 
there's — there's  Master  Everard,  and — and  Father  Francis " 

"  Pish !"  cried  Sir  Guy  testily. 

"  And — there's  your  favorite  old  bitcli." 
14 


210  THE  LADY  ROHESIA. 

"  I  am  not  tliiuking  of  old  bitches !"  quoth  Sir  Guy  de  Mont- 
gomeri. 

Another  pause  ensued;  the  knight  had  released  her  chin, 
and  taken  her  hand ;  it  was  a  pretty  little  hand,  with  long 
taper  fingers  and  filbert-formed  nails,  and  the  softness  of  the 
palm  said  little  for  its  owner's  industry. 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear  Beatrice,"  said  the  knight  thoughtfully ; 
"  you  must  be  fatigued  with  your  long  watching.  Take  a  seat, 
my  child." — Sir  Guy  did  not  relinquish  her  hand ;  but  he 
sidled  along  the  counterpane,  and  made  room  for  his  compan- 
ion between  himself  and  the  bed-post. 

Now  this  is  a  very  awkward  position  for  two  people  to  be 
placed  in,  especially  when  the  right  hand  of  the  one  holds  the 
right  hand  of  the  other : — in  such  an  attitude,  what  the  deuce 
'  can  the  gentleman  do  with  his  left  ?  Sir  Guy  closed  his  till 
it  became  an  absolute  fist,  and  his  knuckles  rested  on  the  bed 
a  little  in  the  rear  of  his  companion. 

"  Another !"  repeated  Sir  Guy,  musing ;  "  if,  indeed,  I  could 
find  such  another!"  He  was  talking  to  his  thought,  but 
Beatrice  Grey  answered  him. 

"  There's  Madam  Fitzfoozle." 

"  A  frump !"  said  Sir  Guy. 

"  Or  the  Lady  Bumbarton." 

"  With  her  hump !"  muttered  he. 

"  There's  the  Dowager " 

"  Stop — stop !"  said  the  knight,  "  stop  one  moment !" — He 
paused  ;  he  was  all  on  the  tremble ;  something  seemed  rising  in 
his  throat,  but  he  gave  a  great  gulp  and  swallowed  it.  "  Bea- 
trice," said  he,  "what  think  you  of" — ^his  voice  sank  into  a 
most  seductive  softness, — "what  think  you  of — Beatrice  Grey?" 

The  murder  was  out :  the  knight  felt  infinitely  relieved  :  the 
knuckles  of  his  left  hand  unclosed  spontaneously  ;  and  the  arm 
he  had  felt  such  a  difficulty  in  disposing  of  found  itself, — 
nobody  knows  how, — all  at  once,  encircling  the  jimp  waist  of 
the  pretty  Beatrice.  The  young  lady's  reply  was  expressed  in 
three  syllables.  They  were,  "  Oh,  Sir  Guy !"  The  words  might 
be  somewhat  indefinite,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  look. 
Their  eyes  met ;  Sir  Guy's  left  arm  contracted  itself  spasmod- 
ically ;  when  the  eyes  meet, — at  least,  as  theirs  met, — the  lips 


THE  LADY  ROHESIA.  211 

are  very  apt  to  follow  the  example.  The  knight  had  taken  one 
long  loving  kiss — nectar  and  ambrosia !  He  thought  on  Doc- 
tor Butts  and  his  repetatur  haustus, — a  prescription  Father 
Francis  had  taken  infinite  pains  to  translate  for  him :  he  was 
about  to  repeat  it,  but  the  dose  was  interrupted  in  transitu. 
Doubtless  the  adage, 

"  There's  many  a  slip 
'Twixt  the  cup  and  the  Up," 

hath  reference  to  medicine.  Sir  Guy's  lip  was  again  all  but  in 
conjunction  with  that  of  his  bride  elect. 

It  has  been  hinted  already  that  there  was  a  little  round  pol- 
ished patch  on  the  summit  of  the  knight's  perio'anium,  from 
which  his  locks  had  gradually  receded ;  a  sort  of  oasis, — or 
rather  a  3Tont  Blanc  in  miniature,  rising  above  the  highest  point 
of  vegetation.  It  was  on  this  little  spot,  undefended  alike  by 
Art  and  Nature,  that  at  this  interesting  moment  a  blow  de- 
scended, such  as  we  must  borrow  a  term  from  the  Sister  Island 
adequately  to  describe, — it  was  a  "  Whack  !" 

Sir  Guy  started  upon  his  feet ;  Beatrice  Grey  started  upon 
hers :  but  a  single  glance  to  the  rear  reversed  her  position, — she 
fell  upon  her  knees  and  screamed. 

The  knight,  too,  wheeled  about,  and  beheld  a  sight  which 
might  have  turned  a  bolder  man  to  stone. — It  was  She ! — the 
all-but-defunct  Bohesia — there  she  sat,  bolt  upright ! — her  eyes 
no  longer  glazed  with  the  film  of  impending  dissolution,  but 
scintillating  like  flint  and  steel ;  while  in  her  hand  she  grasped 
the  bed-staff*, — a  weapon  of  mickle  might,  as  her  husband's 
bloody  coxcomb  could  now  well  testify.  Words  were  yet  want- 
ing, for  the  quinsy,  which  her  rage  had  broken,  still  impeded 
her  utterance;  but  the  strength  and  rapidity  of  her  guttural 
intonations  augured  well  for  her  future  eloquence. 

Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri  stood  for  a  while  like  a  man  dis- 
traught ;  this  resurrection — for  such  it  seemed — had  quite  over- 
powered him.  "  A  husband  ofttimes  makes  the  best  physician," 
says  the  proverb ;  he  was  a  living  personification  of  its  truth. 
Still  it  was  whispered  he  had  been  content  with  Dr.  Butts ;  but 
his  lady  was  restored  to  bless  him  for  many  years. — Heavens, 
what  a  life  he  led  ! 

The  Lady  Rohesia  mended  apace ;  her  quinsy  was  cured ;  the 


212  THE  LADY  ROHESIA. 

bell  was  stopped,  and  little  Hubert,  the  sacristan,  kicked  out 
of  the  chapelry.  St.  Peter  opened  his  wicket  and  looked  out ; 
— there  was  nobody  there ;  so  he  flung  to  the  gate  in  a  passion, 
and  went  back  to  his  lodge,  grumbling  at  being  hoaxed  by  a 
runaway  ring. 

Years  rolled  on.  The  improvement  of  Lady  Rohesia's  tem- 
per did  not  keep  pace  with  that  of  her  health ;  and  one  fine 
morning  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri  was  seen  to  enter  the  porte- 
cochere  of  Durham  House,  at  that  time  the  town  residence  of 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  Nothing  more  was  ever  heard  of  him; 
but  a  boat  full  of  adventurers  was  known  to  have  dropped  down 
with  the  tide  that  evening  to  Deptford  Hope,  where  lay  the 
good  ship  the  Darling,  commanded  by  Captain  Keymis,  who 
sailed  next  morning  on  the  Virginia  voyage. 

A  brass  plate,  some  eighteen  inches  long,  may  yet  be  seen  in 
Denton  chancel,  let  into  a  broad  slab  of  Bethersden  marble ;  it 
represents  a  lady  kneeling,  in  her  wimple  and  hood ;  her  hands 
are  clasped  in  prayer,  and  beneath  is  an  inscription  in  the  char- 
acters of  the  age — 

"  praij  for  2«  JJoioIt  of  jt  ?La&2  33.02jj«, 
EnlJ  for  aUe  <^\iisUn  sotoksr 

The  date  is  illegible;  but  it  appears  that  she  survived  King 
Henry  the  Eighth,  and  that  the  dissolution  of  monasteries  had 
lost  St.  Mary  Rouncival  her  thousand  marks.  As  for  Beatrice 
Gray,  it  is  well  known  that  she  was  alive  in  1559,  and  then  had 
virginity  enough  left  to  be  a  maid  of  honor  to  "  good  Queen 
Bess." 


It  was  during  the  "  Honey  (or,  as  it  is  sometimes  termed,  the 
*  Treacle ')  Moon  "  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seaforth  passed  through 
London.  A  "  good-natured  friend,"  who  dropped  in  to  dinner, 
forced  them  in  the  evening  to  the  theatre  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  rid  of  him.  I  give  Charles's  account  of  the  Tragedy, 
just  as  it  was  written,  without  altering  even  the  last  couplet — 
for  there  would  be  no  making  "  Egerton  "  rhyme  with  "  Story." 


TUE  TRAGEDY.  213 

"  Quseque  ipse  miserrima  vidi." — Viegil. 

CATHERINE  of  Cleves  was  a  Lady  of  rank : 
She  had  lands  and  fine  houses,  and  cash  in  the  Bank ; 

She  had  jewels  and  rings,     And  a  thousand  smart  things ; 

Was  lovely  and  young.     With  a  rather  sharp  tongue, 
And  she  wedded  a  noble  of  high  degree 
With  the  star  of  the  order  of  St.  Esprit ; 

But  the  Duke  de  Guise     Was,  by  many  degrees, 
Her  senior,  and  not  very  easy  to  please ; 
He'd  a  sneer  on  his  lip,  and  a  scowl  with  his  eye. 
And  a  frown  on  his  brow, — and  he  looked  like  a  Guy, — 

So  she  took  to  intriguing     With  Monsieur  St.  Megrin, 
A  young  man  of  fashion,  and  figure,  and  worth, 
But  with  no  great  pretensions  to  fortune  or  birth  ; 

He  would  sing,  fence,  and  dance,     W^ith  the  best  man  in 
France, 
And  took  his  rappee  with  genteel  nonchalance ; 
He  smiled,  and  he  flattered,  and  flirted  with  ease, 
And  was  very  superior  to  Monseigneur  de  Guise. 
Now  Monsieur  St.  Megrin  was  curious  to  know 
If  the  Lady  approved  of  his  passion  or  no ; 

So,  without  more  ado,     He  put  on  his  surtout. 
And  went  to  a  man  with  a  beard  like  a  Jew, 

One  Signor  Ruggieri,     A  Cunning-man  near,  he 
Could  conjure,  tell  fortunes,  and  calculate  tides. 
Perform  tricks  on  the  cards,  and  Heaven  knows  what  besides. 
Bring  back  a  strayed  cow,  silver  ladle,  or  spoon, 
And  was  thought  to  be  thick  with  the  Man  in  the  Moon. 

The  Sage  took  his  stand     With  his  wand  in  his  hand, 
Drew  a  circle,  then  gave  the  dread  word  of  command, 
Saying  solemnly — "  Presto  ! — Hey,  quick  ! — Cock-a-lorum  !  !" 
When  the  Duchess  immediately  popped  up  before  'em. 
Just  then  a  Conjunction  of  Venus  and  Mars, 
Or  something  peculiar  above  in  the  stars, 
Attracted  the  notice  of  Signor  Ruggieri, 
Who  "  bolted,"  and  left  him  alone  with  his  deary. — 


214  THE  TRAGEDY. 

Monsieur  St.  Megrin  went  down  on  his  knees, 

And  the  Duchess  shed  tears  large  as  marrow-fat  peas, 

When, — fancy  the  shock, —     A  loud  double  knock 
Made  the  Lady  ciy  "  Get  up,  you  fool ! — there's  De  Guise !" 

'Twas   his   Grace,  sure   enough;     So   Monsieur,  looking 
bluff. 
Strutted  by,  with  his  hat  on,  and  fingering  his  ruff, 
While,  unseen  by  either,  away  flew  the  Dame 
Through  the  opposite  keyhole,  the  same  way  she  came ; 

But,  alack !  and  alas !     A  mishap  came  to  pass, 
In  her  hurry  she,  somehow  or  other,  let  fall 
A  new  silk  Bandana  she'd  worn  as  a  shawl ; 

She  had  used  it  for  drying     Her  bright  eyes  while  crying, 
And  blowing  her  nose,  as  her  Beau  talked  of  dying ! 

Now  the  Duke,  who  had  seen  it  so  lately  adorn  her. 
And  knew  the  great  C  with  the  Crown  in  the  corner, 
The  instant  he  spied  it,  smoked  something  amiss, 
And  said,  with  some  energy,  "  D it !  what's  this  ?" 

He  went  home  in  a  fume,     And  bounced  into  her  room, 
Crying,  "  So,  Ma'am,  I  find  I've  some  cause  to  be  jealous ! 
Look  here ! — here's  a  proof  you  run  after  the  fellows ! 
— Now  take  up  that  pen, — if  it's  bad  choose  a  better, — 
And  write,  as  I  dictate,  this  moment  a  letter 

To  Monsieur — you  know  who !"    The  Lady  looked  blue, 
But  replied  with  much  firmness,  "  Hang  me  if  I  do !" 

De  Guise  grasped  her  wrist     With  his  great  bony  fist. 
And  pinched  it,  and  gave  it  so  painful  a  twist, 
That  his  hard  iron  gauntlet  the  flesh  went  an  inch  in, — 
Slie  did  not  mind  death,  but  she  could  not  stand  pincliing ; 

So  she  sat  down  and  wrote     This  polite  little  note : — 

"  Dear  Mister  St.  Megrin,    The  Chiefs  of  the  League  in 
Our  house  mean  to  dine    This  evening  at  nine ; 
I  shall,  soon  after  ten,     Slip  away  from  the  men. 

And  you'll  find  me  up  stairs  in  the  drawing-room  then ; 

Come  up  the  back  way,  or  those  impudent  thieves 

Of  Servants  will  see  you.     Yours, 

"Catherine  of  Cleves. 


/ 


■  So,  Ma'am,  I  find  I've  some  cause  to  be  jealous  ! 
Look  here  1 — here's  a  proof  you  run  after  the  fellows !" 

p.  214. 


THE  TRAGEDY.  215 

She  directed  and  sealed  it,  all  pale  as  a  ghost, 
And  De  Guise  put  it  into  the  Twopenny  Post. 

St.  Megrin  had  almost  jumped  out  of  his  skin 
For  joy  that  day  when  the  post  came  in  ; 

He  read  thfe  note  through,     Then  began  it  anew, 
And  thought  it  almost  too  good  news  to  be  true. — 

He  clapped  on  his  hat,     And  a  hood  over  that. 
With  a  cloak  to  disguise  him,  and  make  him  look  fat ; 
So  great  his  impatience  from  half  after  Four 
He  was  waiting  till  Ten  at  De  Guise's  back  door. 
When  he  heard  the  great  clock  of  St.  Genevieve  chime 
He  ran  up  the  back  staircase  six  steps  at  a  time. 

He  had  scarce  made  his  bow,     He  hardly  knew  how, 

When  alas!  and  alack  I     There  was  no  getting  back, 
For  the  drawing-room  door  was  banged  to  with  a  whack ; — 

In  vain  he  applied     To  the  handle  and  tried. 
Somebody  or  other  had  locked  it  outside ! 
And  the  Duchess  in  agony  mourned  her  mishap, 
"  We  are  caught  like  a  couple  of  rats  in  a  trap." 

Now  the  Duchess's  Page,     About  twelve  years  of  age. 
For  so  little  a  boy  was  remarkably  sage ; 
And  just  in  the  nick,  to  their  joy  and  amazement. 
Popped  the  Gas-lighter's  ladder  close  under  the  casement. 

But  all  would  not  do, —     Though  St.  Megrin  got  through 
The  window, — below  stood  De  Guise  and  his  crew, 
And  though  never  man  was  more  brave  than  St.  Megrin, 
Yet  fighting  a  score  is  extremely  fatiguing  ; 

He  thrust  carte  and  tierce    Uncommonly  fierce, 
But  not  Beelzebub's  self  could  their  cuirasses  pierce ; 

While  his  doublet  and  hose,     Being  holiday  clothes, 
Were  soon  cut  through  and  through  from  his  knees  to  his  nose  ; 
Still  an  old  crooked  sixpence  the  Conjurer  gave  him 
From  pistol  and  sword  was  sufiicient  to  save  him ; 

But  when  beat  on  his  knees.     That  confounded  De  Guise 
Came  behind  with  the  "  fogle  "  that  caused  all  this  breeze, 
Whipped  it  tight  round  his  neck,  and  when  backward  he'd 

jerked  him, 
The  rest  of  the  rascals  jumped  on  him  and  Burked  him. 


216  -  THE  TRAOEDT. 

The  poor  little  Page,  too,  himself  got  no  quarter,  but 

Was  served  the  same  way.     And  was  found  the  next  day 

With  his  heels  in  the  air,  and  his  head  in  the  water-butt. 

Catherine  of  Cleves     Roared  "  Murder !"  and  "  Thieves !" 
From  the  window  above     While  they  murdered  her  love ; 

Till,  finding  the  rogues  had  accomplished  his  slaughter, 

She  drank  Prussic  acid  without  any  water. 

And  died  like  a  Duke-and-a-Duchess's  daughter ! 

MORAL, 

Take  warning,  ye  fair,  from  this  tale  of  the  Bard's, 

And  don't  go  where  fortunes  are  told  on  the  cards, 

But  steer  clear  of  Conjurers, — never  put  query 

To  "  Wise  Mrs.  Williams,"  or  folks  like  Ruggieri. 

When  alone  in  your  room  shut  the  door  close,  and  lock  it ! 

Above  all,  —  keep   your    handkerchief    safe  in  your 

POCKET  ! 

Lest  you  too  should  stumble,  and  Lord  Leveson  Gower,  he 
Be  called  on, — sad  poet ! — to  tell  your  sad  story ! 


It  was  in  the  summer  of  1838  that  a  party  from  Tappington 
reached  the  metropolis  with  a  view  of  witnessing  the  coronation 
of  their  youthful  Queen,  whom  God  long  preserve ! — This  pur- 
pose they  were  fortunate  enough  to  accomplish  by  the  purchase 
of  a  peer's  tickets  from  a  stationer  in  the  Strand,  who  was  en-~ 
abled  so  to  dispose  of  some,  greatly  to  the  indignation  of  the 
hereditary  Earl  Marshal.  How  Mr.  Barney  managed  to  insin- 
uate himself  into  the  Abbey  remains  a  mystery ;  his  character- 
istic modesty  and  address  doubtless  assisted  him,  for  there  he 
unquestionably  was.  The  result  of  his  observations  was  thus 
communicated  to  his  associates  in  the  Servants'  Hall,  upon  his 
return,  to  the  infinite  delectation  of  Mademoiselle  Pauline,  over 
a  Qruiskeen  of  his  own  concoctinsr. 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CORONATION.  217 


Mx,  Barnes  iHaguire'g  account  of  tt)c 
iiToronation* 

Air. — "  The  Groves  of  Blarney.^ 

OCH !  the  Coronation !  what  celebration 
For  emulation  can  with  it  compare  ? 
When  to  Westminster  the  Royal  Spinster, 

And  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  all  in  order  did  repair  I 
'Twas  there  you'd  see  the  New  Polishemen 
Making  a  skrimmage  at  half  after  four, 
And  the  Lords  and  Ladies,  and  the  Miss  O'Gradys, 
All  standing  round  before  the  Abbey  door. 

Their  pillows  scorning,  that  self-same  morning 

Themselves  adorning,  all  by  the  candle-light, 
With  roses  and  lilies,  and  daffy-down-dillies, 

And  gould  and  jewels,  and  rich  di'monds  bright.  -^ 

And  then  approaches  five  hundred  coaches, 

With  General  Dullbeak. — Och !  'twas  mighty  fine 
To  see  how  asy  bould  Corporal  Casey, 

With  his  sword  drawn,  prancing  made  them  kape  the  line. 

Then  the  Guns'  alarums,  and  the  King  of  Arums, 

All  in  his  Garters  and  his  Clarence  shoes. 
Opening  the  massy  doors  to  the  bould  Ambassydors, 

The  Prince  of  Potboys,  and  great  haythen  Jews ; 
'Twould  have  made  you  crazy  to  see  Esterhazy 

All  jools  from  his  jasey  to  his  di'mond  boots, 
With  Alderman  Harmer,  and  that  swate  charmer, 

The  female  heiress,  Miss  Anja-ly  Coutts. 

And  Wellington,  walking  with  his  swoord  drawn,  talking 
To  Hill  and  Hardinge,  haroes  of  great  fame : 

And  Sir  De  Lacy,  and  the  Duke  Dalmasy 

(They  called  him  Sowlt  afore  he  changed  his  name), 

Themselves  presading  Lord  Melbourne,  lading 
The  Queen,  the  darling,  to  her  royal  chair, 


218  BARNEY  MAGUIRE'S 

And  that  fine  ould  fellow,  the  Duke  of  Pell-Mello, 
The  Queen  of  Portingal's  Chargy-de-fair. 

Then  the  Noble  Prussians,  likewise  the  Russians, 

In  fine  laced  jackets  with  their  goulden  cuflTs, 
And  the  Bavarians,  and  the  proud  Hungarians, 

And  Everythingarians  all  in  furs  and  muffs. 
Then  Misthur  Spaker,  with  Misthur  Pays  the  Quaker, 

All  in  the  Gallery  you  might  persave ; 
But  Lord  Brougham  was  missing,  and  gone  a-fishing, 

Ounly  crass  Lord  Essex  would  not  give  him  lave. 

There  was  Baron  Alten  himself  exalting, 

And  Prince  Von  Schwartzenberg,  and  many  more, 
Och !  I'd  be  bothered  and  entirely  smothered 

To  tell  the  half  of  'em  was  to  the  fore ; 
With  the  swate  Peeresses,  in  their  crowns  and  dresses, 

And  Aldermanesses,  and  the  Boord  of  Works ; 
But  Meheraet  Ali  said,  quite  gintaly, 

"  I'd  be  proud  to  see  the  likes  among  the  Turks !" 

Then  the  Queen,  Heaven  bless  her !  och !  they  did  dress  her 

In  her  purple  garments  and  her  goulden  Crown ; 
Like  Venus  or  Hebe,  or  the  Queen  of  Sheby, 

With  eight  young  ladies  houlding  up  her  gown. 
Sure  'twas  grand  to  see  her,  also  for  to  he-ar 

The  big  drums  bating,  and  the  trumpets  blow, 
And  Sir  George  Smart !     Oh !  he  played  a  Consarto, 

With  his  four-and-twenty  fiddlers  all  on  a  row ! 

Then  the  Lord  Archbishop  held  a  goulden  dish  up. 

For  to  resave  her  bounty  and  great  wealth. 
Saying,  "Plase  your  Glory,  great  Queen  Vic-tory ! 

Ye'll  give  the  Clargy  lave  to  dhrink  your  health  !" 
Then  his  Riverence,  retrating,  discoorsed  the  mating ; 

"  Boys !     Here's  your  Queen !  deny  it  if  you  can ! 
And  if  any  bould  traitour,  or  infarior  craythur. 

Sneezes  at  that,  I'd  like  to  see  the  man !" 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE   CORONATION.  219 

Then  the  Nobles  kneeling  to  the  Powers  appealing, 

"  Heaven  send  your  Majesty  a  glorious  reign !" 
And  Sir  Claudius  Hunter  he  did  confront  her, 

All  in  his  scarlet  gown  and  goulden  chain. 
The  great  Lord  May'r,  too,  sat  in  his  chair,  too, 

But  mighty  sarious,  looking  fit  to  cry. 
For  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  all  in  his  hurry, 

Throwing  the  thirteens,  hit  him  in  his  eye. 

Then  there  was  preaching,  and  good  store  of  speeching, 

"With  Dukes  and  Marquises  on  bended  knee ; 
And  they  did  splash  her  with  raal  Macasshur, 

And  the  Queen  said,  "Ah !  then  thank  ye  all  for  me !" — 
Then  the  trumpets  braying,  and  the  organ  playing, 

And  sweet  trombones,  with  their  silver  tones ; 
But  Lord  Rolle  was  rolling ; — 'twas  mighty  consoling 

To  think  his  Lordship  did  not  break  his  bones ! 

Then  the  crames  and  custard,  and  the  beef  and  mustard. 

All  on  the  tombstones  like  a  poultherer's  shop ; 
"With  lobsters  and  white-bait,  and  other  swate-meats. 

And  wine  and  nagus,  and  Imperial  Pop ! 
There  was  cakes  and  apples  in  all  the  Chapels, 

With  fine  polonies,  and  rich  mellow  pears, — 
Och !  the  Count  Von  Strogonoff,  sure  he  got  prog  enough, 

The  sly  ould  Divil,  undernathe  the  stairs. 

Then  the  cannons  thundered,  and  the  people  Avondered, 

Crying,  "  God  save  Victoria,  our  Royal  Queen !" — 
— Och !  if  myself  should  live  to  be  a  hundred, 

Sure  it's  the  proudest  day  that  I'll  have  seen. 
And  now,  I've  ended,  what  I  pretended. 

This  narration  splendid  in  swate  poe-thry, 
Ye  dear  bewitcher,  just  hand  the  pitcher. 

Faith,  it's  myself  that's  getting  mighty  dhry. 


220  THE  ''MONSTRE"   BALLOON. 


As  a  pendant  to  the  foregoing,  I  shall  venture  to  insert  Jlr, 
Simpkinson's  lucubrations  on  a  subject  to  him,  as  a  Savant  of" 
the  first  class,  scarcely  less  interesting.  The  aerial  voyage  to 
which  it  alludes  took  place  about  a  year  and  a  half  previously 
to  the  august  event  already  recorded,  and  the  excitement  mani- 
fested in  the  learned  Antiquary's  effusion  may  give  some  faint 
idea  of  that  which  prevailed  generally  among  the  Sons  of 
Science  at  that  memorable  epoch. 


W^t  ''Mon^ixt*'  Balloon. 

OH !  the  balloon,  the  great  balloon, 
It  left  Vauxhall  one  Monday  at  noon, 
And  every  one  said  we  should  hear  of  it  soon. 
With  news  from  Aleppo  or  Scanderoon. 
But  very  soon  after  folks  changed  their  tune : 
"  The  netting  had  burst — the  silk — the  shalloon  ; — 
It  had  met  with  a  trade-wind — a  deuced  monsoon — 
It  was  blown  out  to  sea — it  was  blown  to  the  moon — ■ 
They  ought  to  have  put  off  their  journey  till  June; 
Sure  none  but  a  donkey,  a  goose,  or  baboon 
Would  go  up  in  November  in  any  balloon  !" 

Then  they  talked  about  Green — "  Oh !  where's  Mister  Green  ? 

And  where's  Mr.  Holland  who  hired  the  machine  ? 

And  where  is  Monck  Mason,  the  man  that  has  been 

Up  so  often  before — twelve  times  or  thirteen — 

And  who  writes  such  nice  letters  describing  the  scene  ? 

And  where's  the  cold  fowl,  and  the  ham,  and  poteen  ? 

The  pressed  beef,  with  the  fat  cut  off — nothing  but  lean. 

And  the  portable  soup  in  the  patent  tureen  ? 

Have  they  got  to  Grand  Cairo  or  reached  Aberdeen  ? 

Or  Jerusalem — Hamburg — or  Ballyporeen  ? 

No  !  they  have  not  been  seen !     Oh !  they  haven't  been  seen !" 


THE  "MONSTRE"   BALLOON.  221 

Stay !  here's  Mister  Gye — Mr.  Frederick  Gye — 
"  At  Paris,"  says  he,  "  I've  been  up  very  high, 
A  couple  of  hundred  of  toises,  or  nigh, 
A  cockstride  the  Tuileries'  pantiles,  to  spy 
With  Dollond's  best  telescope  stuck  at  my  eye. 
And  my  umbrella  under  my  arm  like  Paul  Pry, 
But  I  could  see  nothing  at  all  but  the  sky ; 
So  I  thought  with  myself  'twas  of  no  use  to  try 
Any  longer ;  and,  feeling  remarkably  dry 
From  sitting  all  day  stuck  up  there,  like  a  Guy, 
I  came  down  again,  and — you  see — here  am  I !" 


But  here's  Mr.  Hughes ! — What  says  young  Mr.  Hughes ' 
*'  Why,  I'm  sorry  to  say  we've  not  got  any  news 
Since  the  letter  they  threw  down  in  one  of  their  shoes, 
Which  gave  the  mayor's  nose  such  a  deuce  of  a  bi'uise, 
As  he  popped  up  his  eye-glass  to  look  at  their  cruise 
Over  Dover ;  and  which  the  folks  flocked  to  peruse 
At  Squiers's  bazaar,  the  same  evening,  in  crews — 
Politicians,  news-mongers,  town-council,  and  blues, 
Turks,  Heretics,  Infidels,  Jumpers,  and  Jews, 
Scorning  Bachelor's  papers,  and  Warren's  reviews : 
But  the  wind  was  then  blowing  towards  Helvoetsluys, 
And  my  father  and  I  are  in  terrible  stews. 
For  so  large  a  balloon  is  a  sad  thing  to  lose !" — 

Here's  news  come  at  last ! — Here's  news  come  at  last  I — 

A  vessel's  come  in,  which  has  sailed  very  fast ; 

And  a  gentleman  serving  before  the  mast, — 

Mister  Nokes, — has  declared  that  "  the  party  has  past 

Safe  across  to  the  Hague,  where  their  grapnel  they  cast, 

As  a  fat  burgomaster  was  staring  aghast 

To  see  such  a  monster  come  borne  on  the  blast. 

And  it  caught  in  his  waistband,  and  there  it  stuck  fast  !"- 

Oh  fie !  Mister  Nokes, — for  shame,  Mr.  Nokes ! 

To  be  poking  your  fun  at  us  plain-dealing  folks — 

Sir,  this  isn't  a  time  to  be  cracking  your  jokes. 

And  such  jesting  your  malice  but  scurvily  cloaks ; 


222  THE  '^MONSTRE"    BALLOON. 

Sucli  a  trumpery  tale  every  one  of  us  smokes, 

Aud  ^ve  know  very  well  your  whole  story's  a  hoax ! — • 

"  Oh  !  what  shall  we  do  ? — Oh  !  where  will  it  end  ? — 

Can  nobody  go  ? — Can  nobody  send 

To  Calais — or  Bergen-op-zoom — or  Ostend  ? 

Can't  you  go  there  yourself? — Can't  you  write  to  a  friend. 

For  news  upon  which  we  may  safely  depend  ?" — 

Huzza !  huzza !  one  and  eight-pence  to  pay 

For  a  letter  from  Hamborough,  just  come  to  say 

They  descended  at  Weilburg,  about  break  of  day ; 

And  they've  lent  them  the  palace  there  during  their  stay, 

And  the  town  is  becoming  uncommonly  gay, 

And  they're  feasting  the  party,  and  soaking  their  clay 

With  Johannisberg,  Rudesheim,  Moselle,  and  Tokay ! 

And  the  Landgraves,  and  Margraves,  and  Counts  beg  and  pray 

That  they  won't  think,  as  yet,  about  going  away ; 

Notwithstanding,  they  don't  mean  to  make  much  delay, 

But  pack  up  the  balloon  in  a  wagon  or  dray, 

And  pop  themselves  into  a  German  "po-shay/' 

And  get  on  to  Paris  by  Lisle  and  Tournay ; 

Where  they  boldly  declare,  any  wager  they'll  lay 

If  the  gas  people  there  do  not  ask  them  to  pay 

Such  a  sum  as  must  force  them  at  once  to  say  "  Nay," 

They'll  inflate  the  balloon  in  the  Champs-Elys^es, 

And  be  back  again  here  the  beginning  of  May. — 

Dear  me!  what  a  treat  for  a  juvenile /efe/ 

What  thousands  will  flock  their  arrival  to  greet ! 

There'll  be  hardly  a  soul  to  be  seen  in  the  street. 

For  at  Vauxhall  the  whole  population  will  meet, 

And  you'll  scarcely  get  standing-room,  much  less  a  seat, 

For  this  all  preceding  attraction  must  beat ; 

Since  they'll  unfold  what  we  want  to  be  told, — 

How  they  coughed,  how  they  sneezed,  how  they  shivered  "with 

cold. 
How  they  tippled  the  "  cordial"  as  racy  and  old 
As  Hodges,  or  Deady,  or  Smith  ever  sold, 


THE  "MONSTRE"   BALLOON.  223 

And  how  they  all  then  felt  remarkably  bold ; 

How  they  thought  the  boiled  beef  worth  its  own  weight  in  gold, 

And  how  Mr.  Green  was  beginning  to  scold 

Because  Mr.  Mason  would  try  to  lay  hold 

Of  the  moon,  and  had  very  near  overboard  rolled ! 

And  there  they'll  be  seen,  they'll  be  all  to  be  seen, — 

The  great-coats,  the  coffee-pots,  mugs,  and  tureen ! 

"With  the  tight-rope,  and  fireworks,  and  dancing  between. 

If  the  weather  should  only  prove  fair  and  serene ; 

And  there,  on  a  beautiful  transparent  screen, 

In  the  middle  you'll  see  a  large  picture  of  Green, 

Mr.  Holland  on  one  side,  who  hired  the  machine, 

Mr.  Mason  on  t'other,  describing  the  scene ; 

And  Fame,  on  one  leg,  in  the  air,  like  a  queen, 

With  three  wreaths  and  a  trumpet,  will  over  them  lean ; 

While  Envy,  in  serpents  and  black  bombazin. 

Looks  on  from  below  with  an  air  of  chagrin ! 

Then  they'll  play  up  a  tune  in  the  Royal  Saloon, 

And  the  people  will  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

And  keep  up  the  ball  till  the  next  day  at  noon ; 

And  the  peer  and  the  peasant,  the  lord  and  the  loon, 

The  haughty  grandee  and  the  low  picaroon. 

The  six-foot  life-guardsman  and  little  gossoon. 

Will  all  join  in  three  cheers  for  the  "  Monstre"  Balloon ! 


It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  I  have  not  as  yet  been  able 
to  discover  more  than  a  single  specimen  of  my  friend  "  Suckle- 
thumbkin's"  Muse.  The  event  it  alludes  to,  probably  the 
euthanasia  of  the  late  ]Mr.  Greenacre,  will  scarcely  have  yet 
faded  from  the  recollection  of  an  admiring  public.  Although, 
with  the  usual  diffidence  of  a  man  of  fashion,  Augustus  has 
"  sunk "  the  fact  of  his  own  presence  on  that  interesting  occa- 
sion, I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that,  in  describing  the 
party  at  the  auberge  hereafter  mentioned,  he  might  have  said, 
with  a  brother  Exquisite, "  Quorum  pars  magna  Jui" 


224  HON.   MR.   SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S  STORY. 


HON.  MR.  SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S   STORY. 


^i)e  lExecution. 

A    SPORTING    ANECDOTE. 

MY  Lord  Tomnoddy  got  up  one  day ; 
It  was  half  after  two,     He  had  nothing  to  do. 
So  his  Lordship  rang  for  his  cabriolet. 

Tiger  Tim     Was  clean  of  limb, 
His  boots  were  polished,  his  jacket  was  trim ; 
With  a  very  smart  tie  in  his  smart  cravat. 
And  a  smart  cockade  on  the  top  of  his  hat ; 
Tallest  of  boys,  or  shortest  of  men. 
He  stood  in  his  stockings  just  four  foot  ten  ; 
And  he  asked,  as  he  held  the  door  on  the  swing, 
"  Pray,  did  your  Lordship  please  to  ring  ?" 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  he  raised  his  head, 
And  thus  to  Tiger  Tim  he  said : 

"  Malibran's  dead,     Duvernay's  fled, 
Taglioni  has  not  yet  arrived  in  her  stead ; 
Tiger  Tim,  come  tell  me  true. 
What  may  a  Nobleman  find  to  do  ?" — 
Tim  looked  up,  and  Tim  looked  down, 
He  paused,  and  he  put  on  a  thoughtful  frown, 
And  he  held  up  his  hat,  and  he  peeped  in  the  crown ; 
He  bit  his  lip,  and  he  scratched  his  head, 
He  let  go  the  handle,  and  thus  he  said. 
As  the  door,  released,  behind  him  banged  : 
"  An 't  please  you,  my  Lord,  there's  a  man  to  be  hanged." 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  jumped  up  at  the  news, 

"  Run  to  M'Fuze,     And  Lieutenant  Tregooze, 
And  run  to  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  of  4he  Blues. 


THE  EXECUTION.  225 

Rope-dancers  a  score    I've  seen  before — 
Madam  Sacchi,  Antonio,  and  Master  Black-more ; 

But  to  see  a  man  swing     At  the  end  of  a  string, 
With  his  neck  in  a  noose,  will  be  quite  a  new  thing !" 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  stept  into  his  cab — 
Dark  rifle  green,  with  a  lining  of  drab ; 

Through  street  and  through  square 

His  high-trotting  mare, 
Like  one  of  Ducrow's,  goes  pawing  the  air. 
Adown  Piccadilly  and  Waterloo  Place 
Went  the  high-trotting  mare  at  a  veiy  quick  pace ; 

She  produced  some  alarm,     But  did  no  great  harm, 
Save  frightening  a  nurse  with  a  child  on  her  arm, 

Spattering  with  clay     Two  urchins  at  play, 
Knockiiag  down — very  much  to  the  sweeper's  dismay — 
An  old  woman  who  wouldn't  get  out  of  the  way, 

And  upsetting  a  stall     Near  Exeter  Hall, 
Which  made  all  the  pious  Church-Mission  folks  squall. 

But  eastward  afar    Through  Temple  Bar, 
My  Lord  Tomnoddy  directs  his  car ; 

Never  heeding  their  squalls, 

Or  their  calls,  or  their  bawls, 
He  passes  by  Waithman's  Emporium  for  shawls, 
And,  merely  just  catching  a  glimpse  of  St.  Paul's, 

Turns  down  the  Old  Bailey, 

Where  in  front  of  the  gaol,  he 
Pulls  "up  at  the  door  of  the  gin-shop,  and  gayly 
Cries,  "  What  must  I  fork  out  to-night,  my  trump, 
For  the  whole  first  floor  of  the  Magpie  and  Stump  ?" 


The  clock  strikes  Twelve — it  is  dark  midnight — 
Yet  the  Magpie  and  Stump  is  one  blaze  of  light. 

The  parties  are  met ;     The  tables  are  set ; 
There  is  "punch,"  "cold  rvithotit"  "hot  with"  heavy  wet, 
Ale-glasses  and  jugs,     And  rummers  and  mugs. 

And  sand  on  the  floor,  without  carpets  or  rugs, 
15 


226  HON.  MR.  SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S  STORY. 

Cold  fowl  and  cigars,     Pickled  onions  in  jars, 
Welsh  rabbits  and  kidneys — rare  work  for  the  jaws — 
And  very  large  lobsters,  with  very  lai'ge  claws  ; 

And  there  is  M'Fuze,     And  Lieutenant  Tregooze ; 
And  there  is  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  of  the  Blues, 
All  come  to  see  a  man  "  die  in  his  shoes !" 

The  clock  strikes  One !     Supper  is  done, 
And  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  is  full  of  his  fun, 
Singing  "  Jolly  companions  every  one !" 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy     Is  drinking  gin-toddy, 
And  laughing  at  ev'ry  thing,  and  ev'ry  body. — 

The  clock  strikes  Two !  and  the  clock  strikes  Three ! 
— "  Who  so  merry,  so  merry  as  we  ?" 

Save  Captain  M'Fuze,     Who  is  taking  a  snooze. 
While  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  is  busy  at  w^ork 
Blacking  his  nose  with  a  piece  of  burnt  cork. 

The  clock  strikes  Four ! —    Round  the  debtors'  door 
Are  gathered  a  couple  of  thousand  or  more ; 

As  many  await     At  the  j^ress-yard  gate. 
Till  slowly  its  folding  doors  open,  and  straight 
The  mob  divides,  and  between  their  ranks 
A  wagon  comes  loaded  with  posts  and  planks. 

The  clock  strikes  Five !     The  Sheriffs  arrive. 
And  the  crowd  is  so  great  that  the  street  seems  alive ; 

But  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks     Blinks,  and  winks. 
A  candle  burns  down  in  the  socket,  and  stinks. 

Lieutenant  Tregooze     Is.  dreaming  of  Jews, 
And  acceptances  all  the  bill-brokers  refuse  ; 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy     Has  drunk  all  his  toddy, 
And  just  as  the  dawn  is  beginning  to  peep, 
The  whole  of  the  party  are  fast  asleep. 

Sweetly,  oh  !  sweetly,  the  morning  breaks. 

With  roseate  streaks, 
Like  the  first  faint  blush  on  a  maiden's  cheeks ; 


THE  execution:  227 

Seemed  as  that  mild  and  clear  blue  sky- 
Smiled  upon  all  things  far  and  high, 
On  all — save  the  wretch  condemn'd  to  die ! 
Alack !  that  ever  so  fair  a  Sun, 
As  that  which  its  course  has  now  begun, 
Should  rise  on  such  scene  of  misery ! — 
Should  gild  with  rays  so  light  and  free 
That  dismal,  dark-frowning  Gallows-tree ! 

And  hark ! — a  sound  comes,  big  with  fate ; 

The  clock  from  St.  Sepulchre's  tower  strikes — Eight ! — 

List  to  that  low  funereal  bell : 

It  is  tolling,  alas !  a  living  man's  knell ! — 

And  see ! — from  forth  that  opening  door 

They  come — He  steps  that  threshold  o'er 

Who  never  shall  tread  upon  threshold  more ! 

— God !  'tis  a  fearsome  thing  to  see 

That  pale  wan  man's  mute  agony, — 

The  glare  of  that  wild,  despairing  eye, 

Now  bent  on  the  crowd,  now  turned  to  the  sky, 

As  though  'twere  scanning,  in  doubt  and  in  fear, 

The  path  of  the  Spirit's  unknown  career ; 

Those  pinioned  arms,  those  hands  that  ne'er 

Shall  be  lifted  again, — not  even  in  prayer ; 

That  heaving  chest ! — Enough — 'tis  done ! 

The  bolt  has  fallen ! — The  spirit  is  gone — 

For  weal  or  for  woe  is  known  but  to  One ! — 

— Oh !  'twas  a  fearsome  sight ! — Ah  me, 

A  deed  to  shudder  at, — not  to  see. 

Again  that  clock !  'tis  time,  'tis  time ! 

The  hour  is  past :  with  its  earliest  chime 

The  cord  is  severed,  the  lifeless  clay 

By  "  dungeon  villains  "  is  borne  away : 

Nine ! — 'twas  the  last  concluding  stroke  I 

And  then — my  Lord  Tomnoddy  awoke ! 

And  Tregooze  and  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  arose. 

And  Captain  M'Fuze,  with  the  black  on  his  nose : 


228  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY. 

And  they  stared  at  each  other,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Hollo !  Hollo !     Here's  a  rum  Go ! 

Why,  Captain ! — my  Lord ! — Here's  the  devil  to  pay ! 

The  fellow's  been  cut  down  and  taken  away ! 

What's  to  be  done  ?     We've  miss'd  all  the  fun ! — 

Why,  they'll  laugh  at  and  quiz  us  all  over  the  town, 

We  are  all  of  us  done  so  uncommonly  brown !" 


What  was  to  be  done  ? — 'twas  perfectly  plain 
That  they  could  not  well  hang  the  man  over  again ; 
What  was  to  be  done? — The  man  was  dead ! 
Nought  could  be  done — nought  could  be  said  ; 
So — my  Lord  Tomnoddy  went  home  to  bed ! 


The  following  communication  will  speak  for  itself: — 
"  Ou  their  own  actions  modest  men  are  dumb !" 

IN  A  FAMILIAR  EPISTLE  TO  MY  BROTHER-IN-LAW,  LIEUT.  SEA- 
FORTH,  H.P.,  LATE  OF  THE  HON.  E.I.C.'S  SECOND  REGT. 
OF   BOMBAY   FENCIBLES.       • 

"The  play's  the  itansV— Hamlet. 

Tavistock  Hotel,  Nov.  1839. 
Dear  Charles, 

In  reply  to  your  letter,  and  Fanny's, 
Lord   Brougham,   it  appears,   isn't   dead, — though   Queen 

Anne  is; 
'Twas  a  "  plot"  and  a  "  farce" — you  hate  farces,  you  say — 
Take  another  "  plot,"  then,  viz.,  the  plot  of  the  Play. 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY.  229 

The  Countess  of  Arundel,  high  in  degree, 

As  a  lady  possessed  of  an  earldom  in  fee, 

Was  imprudent  enough,  at  fifteen  years  of  age, — 

A  period  of  life  when  we're  not  over  sage, — 

To  form  a  liaison — in  fact,  to  engage 

Her  hand  to  a  Hop-o'-my-thumb  of  a  Page. 

This  put  her  Papa —     She  had  no  Mamma — 
As  may  well  be  supposed,  in  a  deuce  of  a  rage. 

IMr.  Benjamin  Franklin  was  wont  to  repeat. 

In  his  budget  of  proverbs,  "  Stol'n  kisses  are  sweet !" 

But  they  have  their  alloy : —    Fate  assumed,  to  annoy 
Miss  Arundel's  peace,  and  embitter  her  joy, 
The  equivocal  shape  of  a  fine  little  Boy. 

When,  through  "  the  young  stranger,"  her  secret  took  wind, 
The  old  Lord  was  neither  "  to  baud  nor  to  bind  ;" 

He  bounced  up  and  down.     And  so  fearful  a  frown 
Contracted  his  brow,  you'd  have  thought  he'd  been  blind. 

The  young  lady,  they  say,     Having  fainted  away. 
Was  confined  to  her  room  for  the  whole  of  that  day ; 
AVhile  her  beau — no  rare  thing  in  the  old  feudal  system — 
Disappeared  the  next  morning,  and  nobody  missed  him. 

The  fact  is,  his  Lordship, — who  hadn't,  it  seems, 
Formed  the  slightest  idea,  not  ev'n  in  his  dreams, 
That  the  pair  had  been  wedded  according  to  law, — 
Conceived  that  his  daughter  had  made  a  faux  pas; 

So  he  bribed  at  a  high  rate     A  sort  of  a  Pirate 
To  knock  out  the  poor  dear  young  Gentleman's  brains, 
And  gave  him  a  handsome  douceur  for  his  pains. 
The  Page  thus  disposed  of,  his  Lordship  now  turns 
His  attention  at  once  to  the  Lady's  concerns ; 

And,  alarmed  for  the  future,     Looks  out  for  a  suitor, 
One  not  fond  of  raking,  nor  giv'n  to  "  the  pewter," 
But  adapted  to  act  both  the  husband  and  tutor ; — 
Finds  a  highly  respectable  middle-aged  widower, 
Marries  her  ofi",  and  thanks  Heaven  that  he's  rid  of  her. 


230  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY. 

Relieved  from  his  cares,     The  old  Peer  now  prepares 
To  arrange  in  good  earnest  his  worldly  affairs ; 
Has  his  will  made  anew  by  a  Special  Attorney, 
Sickens, — takes  to  his  bed, — and  sets  out  on  his  journey. 

Which  way  he  travelled     Has  not  been  unravelled ; 
To  speculate  much  on  the  point  were  too  curious. 
If  the  climate  he  reached  were  serene  or  sulphureous. 
To  be  sure,  in  his  balance-sheet  all  must  declare 
One  item — the  Page — was  an  awkward  affair ; 
But,  per  contra,  he'd  lately  endowed  a  new  Chantry 
For  Priests,  with  ten  marks,  and  the  run  of  the  pantry. 

Be  that  as  it  may,     It's  sufficient  to  say 
That  his  tomb  in  the  chancel  stands  there  to  this  day, 
Built  of  Bethersden  marble — a  dark  bluish-gray. 
The  figure,  a  fine  one  of  pure  alabaster, 
Some  cleanly  churchwarden  has  covei'ed  with  plaster ; 

While  some  Vandal  or  Jew,     With  a  taste  for  virtUy 
Has  knocked  off  his  toes,  to  place,  I  suppose. 
In  some  Pickwick  Museum,  with  part  of  his  nose ; 

From  his  belt  and  his  sword     And  his  misericorde 
The  enamel's  been  chipped  out,  and  never  restored ; 
His  ci-gtt  in  old  French  is  inscribed  all  around, 
And  his  head's  in  his  helm,  and  his  heel's  on  his  hound ; 
The  palms  of  his  hands,  as  if  going  to  pray. 
Are  joined  and  upraised  o'er  his  bosom —     But  stay  I 
I  forgot  that  his  tomb's  not  described  in  the  Play ! 


Lady  Arundel,  now  in  her  own  right  a  Peeress, 
Perplexes  her  noddle  with  no  such  nice  queries, 
But  produces  in  time,  to  her  husband's  great  joy, 
Another  remarkably  "  fine  little  boy." 

As  novel  connections     Oft  change  the  affections. 
And  turn  all  one's  love  into  different  directions. 
Now  to  young   "Johnny   New  come"   she  seems   to   confine 

hers, 
Neglecting  the  poor  little  dear  out  at  dry-nurse ; 

Nay,  far  worse  than  that.     She  considers  "  the  brat " 
As  a  bore, — fears  her  husband  may  smell  out  a  rat. 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY.  231 

For  her  legal  adviser     She  takes  an  old  Miser, 
A  sort  of  "  poor  cousin."     She  might  have  been  wiser ; 

For  this  arrant  deceiver,     By  name  Maurice  Beevor, 
A  shocking  old  scamp,  should  her  own  issue  foil, 
By  the  law  of  the  land  stands  the  next  in  entail ; 
So,  as  soon  as  she  asked  him  to  hit  on  some  plan 
To  provide  for  her  eldest,  away  the  rogue  ran 
To  that  self-same  unprincipled  sea-faring  man ; 
In  his  ear  whispered  low     *     *     *  — "  Bully  Gaussen  "  said 

"  Done  !— 
I  Burked  the  papa,  now  I'll  Bishop  the  son !" 

'Twas  agreed  ;  and,  with  speed     To  accomplish  the  deed, 
He  adopted  a  scheme  he  was  sure  would  succeed. 

By  long  cock-and-bull  stories.     Of  Candish  and  Noreys, 
Of  Drake,  and  bold  Raleigh  (then  fresh  in  his  glories, 
Acquired  'mongst  the  Indians,  and  Rapparee  Tories), 

He  so  worked  on  the  lad,     That  he  left,  which  was  bad, 
The  only  true  friend  in  the  world  that  he  had, 
Father  Onslow,  a  priest,  though  to  quit  him  most  loth, 
Who  in  childhood  had  furnished  his  pap  and  his  broth, 
At  no  small  risk  of  scandal,  indeed,  to  his  cloth. 

The  kidnapping  crimp     Took  the  foolish  young  imp 
On  board  of  his  cutter  so  trim  and  so  jimp. 
Then,  seizing  him  just  as  you'd  handle  a  shrimp, 
Twirled  him  thrice  in  the  air  with  a  whirligig  motion, 
And  soused  him  at  once  neck  and  heels  in  the  ocean ; 

This  was  off  Plymouth  Sound, 

And  he  must  have  been  drowned, 
For  'twas  nonsense  to  think  he  could  swim  to  dry  ground, 

If  "  A  very  great  Warman,     Called  Billy  the  Norman," 
Had  not  just  at  that  moment  sailed  by,  outward  bound. 

A  shark  of  great  size.     With  his  great  glassy  eyes. 
Sheered  off  as  he  came,  and  relinquished  the  prize  : 
So  he  picked  up  the  lad,*  swabbed  and  dry-rubbed  and  mopped 

him. 
And,  having  no  children,  resolved  to  adopt  him. 

*  An  incident  very  like  one  in  Jack  Sheppard — 
A  work  some  have  lauded,  and  others  have  peppered— 


232  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY. 

Full  many  a  year     Did  he  hand,  reef,  and  steer, 
And  by  no  means  considered  himself  as  small  beer, 
When  old  Norman  at  length  died  and  left  him  his  frigate. 
With  lots  of  pistoles  in  his  coffer  to  rig  it. 

A  sailor  ne'er  moans  ;     So,  consigning  the  bones 
Of  his  friend  to  the  locker  of  one  Mr.  Jones, 

For  England  he  steers. —     On  the  voyage  it  appears 
That  he  rescued  a  maid  from  the  Dey  of  Algiers ; 
And   at   length   reached   the  Sussex   coast,  where,  in  a 

bay. 
Not  a  great  way  from  Brighton,  most  cosily  lay 
His  vessel  at  anchor,  the  very  same  day 
That  the  Poet  begins — thus  commencing  his  Play : 


Act  I. 

Giles  Gaussen  accosts  old  Sir  Maurice  de  Beevor, 
And  puts  the  poor  Knight  in  a  deuce  of  a  fever, 
By  saying  the  boy,  whom  he  took  out  to  please  him. 
Is  come  back  a  Captain  on  purpose  to  tease  him. — 
Sir  Maurice,  who  gladly  would  see  Mr.  Gaussen 
Breaking  stones  on  the  highway,  or  sweeping  a  crossing, 
Dissembles — observes,  It's  of  no  use  to  fret, — 
And  hints  he  may  find  some  more  work  for  him  yet ; 
Then  calls  at  the  castle,  and  tells  Lady  A. 
That  the  boy  they  had  ten  years  ago  sent  away 
Is  returned  a  grown  man,  and,  to  come  to  the  point, 
Will  put  her  son  Percy's  nose  clean  out  of  joint ; 
But  adds,  that  herself  she  no  longer  need  vex. 
If  she'll  buy  him  (Sir  Maurice)  a  farm  near  the  Ex. 
"  Oh !  take  it,"  she  cries ;  "  but  secure  every  document." — 
"A   bargain,"    says    Maurice, —  "including    the    stock,    you 
meant  ?" — 

Where  a  Dutch  pirate  kidnaps  and  tosses  Thames  Darrel 

Just  so  in  the  sea,  and  he's  saved  by  a  barrel, — 

On  the  coast,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  it's  flnng  whole, 

And  the  hero,  half  drowned,  scrambles  out  of  the  bung-hole. 

[It  ain't  no  sich  thing ! — the  hero  ain't  bung'd  in  no  barrel  at  all. — He's  picked  up  by 
a  captain,  just  as  Norman  was  arterwards. — Print.  Dev.] 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY.  233 

The  Captain,  meanwhile,     "With  a  lover-like  smile, 
And  a  fine  cambric  handkerchief,  wipes  off'  the  tears 
From  Miss  Violet's  eyelash,  and  hushes  her  fears. 
(That's  the  Lady  he  saved  from  the  Dey  of  Algiers.) 
Now  arises  a  delicate  point,  and  this  is  it — 
The  young  Lady  herself  is  but  down  on  a  visit. 

She's  perplexed;   and,  in  fact,     Does  not  know  how  to 
act. 
It's  her  very  first  visit — and  then  to  begin 
By  asking  a  stranger,  a  gentleman,  in — 
One  with  moustaches  too — and  a  tuft  on  his  chin — 

She  "  really  don't  know —     He  had  much  better  go," — 
Here  the  Countess  steps  in  from  behind,  and  says  "  No ! — 
Fair  sir,  you  are  welcome.     Do,  pray,  stop  and  dine — 
You'll  take  our  pot-luck — and  we've  decentish  wine." 
He  bows,  looks  at  Miss, — and  he  does  not  decline. 

Act  II. 

After  dinner  the  Captain  recounts,  with  much  glee, 
All  he's  heard,  seen,  and  done  since  he  first  went  to  sea. 

All  his  perils  and  scrapes.     And  his  hair-breadth  escapes. 
Talks  of  boa-constrictors,  and  lions,  and  apes. 
And  fierce  "  Bengal  Tigers,"  like  that  which,  you  know, 
If  you've  ever  seen  any  respectable  "  Show," 
"  Carried  off"  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Munro." 
Then,  diverging  awhile,  he  adverts  to  the  mystery 
Which  hangs,  like  a  cloud,  o'er  his  own  private  history — ■ 
How  he  ran  off  to  sea — how  they  set  him  afloat 
(Not  a  word,  though,  of  barrel  or  bung-hole — See  Note), 

How  he  happened  to  meet     With  the  Algerine  fleet, 
And  forced  them,  by  sheer  dint  of  arms,  to  retreat, 
Thus  saving  his  Violet — (One  of  his  feet 
Here  just  touched  her  toe,  and  she  moved  on  her  seat), — 

How  his  vessel  was   battered —      In  short  he   so  chat- 
tered. 
Now  lively,  now  serious,  so  ogled  and  flattered, 
That  the  ladies  much  marvelled  a  person  should  be  able 
To  "  make  himself,"  both  said,  "  so  very  agreeable." 


234  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAT. 

Captain  Norman's  adventures  were  scarcely  half  done 
When  Percy  Lord  Ashdale,  her  Ladyship's  son, 

In  a  terrible  fume,     Bounces  into  the  room, 
And  talks  to  his  guest  as  you'd  talk  to  your  groom, 
Claps  his  hand  on  his  rapier,     And  swears  he'll  be  through 

him — 
The  Captain  does  nothing  at  all  but  "  pooh  !  pooh  !"  him — 

Unable  to  smother     His  hate  of  his  brother. 
He  rails  at  his  cousin,  and  blows  up  his  mother. — 
"  Fie !  fie !"  says  the  first. — Says  the  latter,  "  In  sooth, 
This  is  sharper  by  far  than  a  keen  serpent's  tooth !" 
(A  remark,  by  the  way,  which  King  Lear  had  made  years  ago. 
When   he   asked   for   his   Knights,  and   his  Daughters   said, 
"  Here's  a  go  !")— 

This  made  Ashdale  ashamed ;    But  he  must  not  be  blamed 
Too  much  for  his  warmth,  for  like  many  young  fellows  he 
Was  apt  to  lose  temper  when  tortured  by  jealousy. 

Still  speaking  quite  gruff.     He  goes  off  in  a  huff; 
Lady  A.,  who  is  now  what  some  call  "  up  to  snuff," 

Straight  determines  to  patch     Up  a  clandestine  match 
Between  the  Sea-Captain  she  dreads  like  Old  Scratch, 
And  Miss, — whom  she  does  not  think  any  great  catch 
For  Ashdale ; — besides,  he  won't  kick  up  such  shindies 
Were  she  once  fairly  married  and  off  to  the  Indies. 

Act  III. 

Miss  Violet  takes  from  the  Countess  her  tone : 
She  agrees  to  meet  Norman  "  by  moonlight  alone," 

And  slip  off  to  his  bark,     "  The  night  being  dark," 
Though  "  the  moon,"  the  Sea-Captain  says,  rises  in  Heaven 
"  One  hour  before  midnight,"  i.  e.  at  eleven. 

From  which  speech  I  infer, —     Though  perhaps  I  may 
err, — 
That,  though  weatherwise,  doubtless,  'midst  surges  and  surf,  he 
When  "  capering  on  shore"  was  by  no  means  a  Murphy. 

He  starts  off,  however,  at  sunset  to  reach 

An  old  chapel  in  ruins,  that  stands  on  the  beach, 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAY.  235 

"Where  tlie  Priest  is  to  bring,  as  he's  promised  by  letter,  a 
Paper  to  prove  his  name,  "  birthright,"  et  cetera. 

Being  rather  too  late,     Gaussen,  lying  in  wait. 
Gives  poor  Father  Onslow  a  knock  on  the  pate, 
But  bolts,  seeing  Norman,  before  he  has  wrested 
From  the  hand  of  the  Priest,  as  Sir  Maurice  requested, 
The  marriage  certificate  duly  attested,— 
Norman  kneels  by  the  clergyman  famting  and  gory, 
And  begs  he  won't  die  till  he's  told  him  his  story ; 

The  Father  complies,     Reopens  his  eyes, 
And  tells  him  all  how  and  about  it — and  dies  I 

Act  IV. 

Norman,  now  called  Le  Mesnil,  instructed  of  all, 
Goes  back,  though  it's  getting  quite  late  for  a  call. 
Hangs  his  hat  and  his  cloak  on  a  peg  in  the  hall, 
And  tells  the  proud  Countess  it's  useless  to  smother 
The  fact  any  longer — he  knows  she's  his  Mother ! 

His  Pa's  wedded  Spouse. —     She  questions  his  vovg, 
And  threatens  to  have  him  turned  out  of  the  house. — 

He  still  perseveres,     Till,  in  spite  of  her  fears, 
She  admits  he's  the  son  she  had  cast  off  for  years, 
And  he  gives  her  the  papers  "  all  blistered  with  tears," 
When  Ashdale,  who  chances  his  nose  in  to  poke. 

Takes  his  hat  and  his  cloak.     Just  as  if  in  a  joke. 
Determined  to  put  in  his  wheel  a  new  spoke. 
And  slips  off  thus  disguised,  when  he  sees  by  the  dial  it 
's  time  for  the  rendezvous  fixed  with  Miss  Violet. — 
— Captain  Norman,  who,  after  all,  feels  rather  sore 
At  his  mother's  reserve,  vows  to  see  her  no  more. 
Kings  the  bell  for  the  servant  to  open  the  door. 
And  leaves  his  Mamma  in  a  fit  on  the  floor. 

Act  V. 

Now  comes  the  catastrophe ! — Ashdale,  who's  wrapt  in 
The  cloak,  with  the  hat  and  the  plume  of  the  Captaiu, 
Leads  Violet  down  through  the  grounds  to  the  chapel 
Where  Gaussen's  concealed — he  springs  forward  to  grapple 


236  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A   NEW  PLAY. 

The  man  he's  erroneously  led  to  suppose 

Captain  Norman  himself  by  the  cut  of  his  clothes. 

In  the  midst  of  their  strife,     And  just  as  the  knife 
Of  the  Pirate  is  raised  to  deprive  him  of  life, 
The  Captain  co."3S  forward,  drawn  there  by  the  squeals 
Of  the  Lady,  and,  knocking  Giles  head  over  heels, 

Fractures  his  "  nol>,"     Saves  the  hangman  a  job, 
And  executes  justice  most  strictly,  the  rather, 
'Tvvas  the  spot  where  that  rascal  had  murdered  his  father. 

Then  in  comes  the  mother.     Who,  finding  one  brother 
Had  the  instant  before  saved  the  life  of  the  other, 

Explains  the  whole  case,     Ashdale  puts  a  good  face 
On  the  matter ;  and,  since  he's  obliged  to  give  place, 
Yields  his  coronet  up  w'ith  a  pretty  good  grace ; 
Norman  vows  he  Avon't  have  it — the  kinsmen  embrace, — 
And  the  Captain,  the  first  in  this  generous  race, 

To  remove  every  handle     For  gossip  and  scandal, 
Sets  the  whole  of  the  papers  alight  with  the  candle ; 
An  arrangement  takes  place — on  the  very  same  night,  all 
Is  settled  and  done,  and  the  points  the  most  vital 
Are,  N.  takes  the  personals  ; — A.,  in  requital. 
Keeps  the  whole  real  property,  Slansion,  and  Title, — 
V,  falls  to  the  share  of  the  Captain,  and  tries  a 
Sea  voyage,  as  a  Bride,  in  the  "  Royal  Eliza." — 
Both  are  pleased  with  the  part  they  acquire  as  joint  heirs, 
And  old  Maurice  Beevor  is  bimdled  down  stairs ! 

MORAL. 

The  public,  perhaps,  with  the  drama  might  quarrel 
If  deprived  of  all  epilogue,  prologue,  and  moral ; 
This  may  serve  for  all  three  then : — 

"  Young  Ladies  of  property. 
Let  Lady  A.'s  history  serve  as  a  stopper  t'ye ; 
Don't  wed  with  low  people  beneath  your  degree. 
And  if  you've  a  baby,  don't  send  it  to  sea ! 

"  Young  Noblemen,  shun  everything  like  a  brawl ; 
And  be  sure  when  you  dine  out,  or  go  to  a  ball, 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  237 

Don't  take  the  best  liat  that  you  find  in  the  liall, 
And  leave  one  in  its  stead  that's  worth  nothing  at  all ! 

"  Old  Knights,  don't  give  bribes ! — above  all,  never  urge  a  man 
To  steal  people's  things,  or  to  stick  an  old  Clergyman ! 

"  And  you,  ye  Sea  Captains !  who've  nothing  to  do 

But  to  run  round  the  woi-ld,  fight,  and  drink  till  all's  blue, 

And  tell  us  tough  yarns,  and  then  swear  they  are  true. 

Reflect,  notwithstanding  your  seafaring  life, 

That  you  can't  get  on  well  long,  without  you've  a  wife ; 

So  get  one  at  once,  treat  her  kindly  and  gently, 

Write  a  nautical  novel, — and  send  it  to  Bentley !" 


It  has  been  already  hinted  that  Mr.  Peters  had  been  a 
"  traveller "  in  his  day.  The  only  story  which  his  lady  would" 
ever  allow  "  her  P."  to  finish — he  began  as  many  as  would  fur- 
nish an  additional  volume  to  the  "  Thousand  and  One  Mghts" 
— is  the  last  I  shall  offer.  The  subject,  I  fear  me,  is  not  over 
new,  but  will  remind  my  friends 

"  Of  something  better  they  have  seen  before." 

MR.  PETERS'S  STORY. 


Stant  littore  Puppies !— Virgil. 

IT  was  a  litter,  a  litter  of  five. 
Four  are  drowned,  and  one  left  alive, 
He  was  thought  worthy  alone  to  survive. 
And  the  Bagman  resolved  upon  bringing  him  up, 
To  eat  of  his  bread  and  drink  of  his  cup. 
He  was  such  a  dear  little  cock-tailed  pup ! 


238  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

The  Bagman  taught  him  many  a  trick ; 

He  Avould  cany,  and  fetch,  and  run  after  a  stick, 
Could  well  understand     The  word  of  command, 
And  appear  to  doze     With  a  crust  on  his  nose 

Till  the  Bagman  permissively  waved  his  hand : 

Then  to  throw  up  and  catch  it  he  never  would  fail, 

As  he  sat  up  on  end,  on  his  little  cock-tail. 

Never  was  puppy  so  hien  instridt, 

Or  possessed  of  such  natural  talent  as  he ; 
And  as  he  grew  older.     Every  beholder 

Agreed  he  grew  handsomer,  sleeker,  and  bolder. — 

Time,  however  his  wheels  we  may  clog, 

Wends  steadily  still  with  onward  jog, 

And  the  cock-tailed  puppy's  a  curly-tailed  dog ! 

When,  just  at  the  time     He  was  reaching  his  prime. 
And  all  thought  he'd  be  turning  out  something  sublime. 

One  unlucky  day,     How,  no  one  could  say. 
Whether  soft  liaison  induced  him  to  stray. 
Or  some  kidnapping  vagabond  coaxed  him  away, 

He  was  lost  to  the  view.     Like  the  morning  dew ; — 
He  had  been,  and  was  not — that's  all  that  they  knew. 
And  the  Bagman  stormed,  and  the  Bagman  swore 
As  never  a  Bagman  had  sworn  before ; 
But  storming  or  swearing  but  little  avails 
To  recover  lost  dogs  with  great  curly  tails. — 

In  a  large  paved  court,  close  by  Billiter  Square, 
Stands  a  mansion,  old,  but  in  thorough  repair. 
The  only  thing  strange,  from  the  general  air 
Of  its  size  and  appearance,  is  how  it  got  there ; 
In  front  is  a  short  semicircular  stair 

Of  stone  steps, — some  half  score, — 

Then  you  reach  the  ground  floor. 
With  a  shell-patterned  architrave  over  the  door. 

It  is  spacious,  and  seems  to  be  built  on  the  plan 

Of  a  Gentleman's  house  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne ; 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  239 

Which  is  odd,  for  although,     As  we  very  well  know, 
Under  Tudors  and  Stuarts  the  City  could  show 
Many  Noblemen's  seats  above  Bridge  and  below. 
Yet  that  fashion  soon  after  induced  them  to  go 
From  St.  Michael  Coruhill,  and  St.  Mary-le-Bow, 
To  St.  James,  and  St.  George,  and  St.  Anne  in  Soho. — 
Be  this  as  it  may,  at  the  date  I  assign 
To  my  tale, — that's  about  Seventeen  Sixty-nine, — 
This  mansion,  now  rather  upon  the  decline, 
Had  less  dignified  owners, — belonging,  in  fine, 
To  Turner,  Dry,  Weipersyde,  Rogers,  and  Pyne — 
A  respectable  House  in  the  Manchester  line. 

There  were  a  score     Of  Bagmen,  and  more, 
Who  had  travell'd  full  oft  for  the  firm  before ; 
But  just  at  this  period  they  wanted  to  send 
Some  person  on  whom  they  could  safely  depend, — 
A  trustworthy  body,  half  agent,  half  friend, — 
On  some  mercantile  matter  as  far  as  Ostend ; 
And  the  person  they  pitched  on  was  Anthony  Blogg, 
A  grave,  steady  man,  not  addicted  to  grog, — 
The  Bagman,  in  short,  who  had  lost  this  great  dog. 


"  The  Sea !  the  Sea !  the  open  Sea  !— 
That  is  the  place  where  we  all  wish  to  be. 
Rolling  about  on  it  merrily !" 

So  all  sing  and  say     By  night  and  by  day. 
In  the  boudoir,  the  street,  at  the  concert,  and  play. 
In  a  sort  of  coxcombical  roundelay  ; — 
You  may  roam  through  the  City,  transversely  or  straight, 
From  Whitechapel  turnpike  to  Cumberland  gate. 
And  every  young  Lady  who  thrums  a  guitar, 
Ev'ry  moustachio'd  Shopman  who  smokes  a  cigar, 

With  affected  devotion,     Promulgates  his  notion. 
Of  being  a  "  Rover"  and  '*  child  of  the  Ocean" — 
Whate'er  their  age,  sex,  or  condition  may  be. 
They  all  of  them  long  for  the  "  Wide,  Wide  Sea !" 


240  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

But  however  they  dote,     Only  set  them  afloat 
In  any  craft  bigger  at  all  than  a  boat, 

Take  them  down  to  the  Nore,     And  you'll  see  that,  before 
The  "  Wessel"  they  "  Woyage"  in  has  made  half  her  way 
Between  Shell-Ness  Point  and  the  pier  at  Heme  Bay, 
Let  the  wind  meet  the  tide  in  the  slightest  degree. 
They'll  be  all  of  them  heartily  sick  of  "  the  Sea !" 


I've  stood  in  Margate,  on  a  bridge  of  size 
Inferior  far  to  that  described  by  Byron, 

Where  "  palaces  and  pris'ns  on  each  hand  rise," — 
— That  too's  a  stone  one,  this  is  made  of  iron — 
And  little  donkey-boys  your  steps  environ. 

Each  proffering  for  your  choice  his  tiny  hack, 

Vaunting  its  excellence ;  and  should  you  hire  one, 

For  sixpence,  will  he  urge,  with  frequent  thwack, 

The  much-enduring  beast  to  Buenos  Ayres — and  back. 

And  there,  on  many  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 

I've  stood,  and  turned  my  gaze  upon  the  pier. 
And  seen  the  crews,  that  did  embark  so  gay 

That  self-same  morn,  now  disembark  so  queer ; 

Then  to  myself  I've  sighed  and  said,  "  Oh  dear ! 
Who  would  believe  yon  sickly-looking  man's  a 

London  Jack  Tar, — a  Cheapside  Buccaneer !" 
But  hold,  my  Muse ! — for  this  terrific  stanza 
Is  all  too  stiffly  grand  for  our  extravaganza. 


"  So  now  we'll  go  up,  up,  up. 

And  now  we'll  go  down,  down,  down, 
And  now  we'll  go  backwards  and  forwards, 
And  now  we'll  go  "roun',  roun',  roun'." — 
— I  hope  you've  sufficient  discernment  to  see, 
Gentle  Reader,  that  here  the  discarding  the  d 
Is  a  fault  which  you  must  not  attribute  to  me; 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  241 

Thus  my  nurse  cut  it  off  when,  "  with  counterfeit  glee," 

She  sung,  as  she  danced  me  about  on  her  knee, 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  three : — 

All  I  mean  to  say  is  that  the  Muse  is  now  free 

From  the  self-imposed  trammels  put  on  by  her  betters, 

And  no  longer  like  Filch,  'midst  the  felons  and  debtors 

At  Drury  Lane,  dances  her  hornpipe  in  fetters. 

Resuming  her  track.     At  once  she  goes  back 
To  our  hero,  the  Bagman. — Alas !  and  Alack ! 

Poor  Anthony  Blogg     Is  as  sick  as  a  dog, 
Spite  of  sundry  unwonted  potations  of  grog. 
By  the  time  the  Dutch  packet  is  fairly  at  sea, 
With  the  sands  called  the  Goodwins  a  league  on  her  lee. 


And  now,  my  good  friends,  I've  a  fine  opportunity 
To  obfuscate  you  all  by  sea  terms  with  impunity, 

And  talking  of  "  calking,"     And  "  quarter-deck  walking," 

"  Fore  and  aft,"     And  "  abaft," 
"Hookers,"  "barkeys,"  and  "craft" 
(At  which  Mr.  Poole  has  so  wickedly  laught), 
Of  binnacles, — bilboes, — the  boom  called  the  spanker, 
The  best  bower  cable, — the  jib, — and  sheet  anchor ; 
Of  lower-deck  guns,  and  broadsides  and  chases. 
Of  taffrails  and  topsails,  and  splicing  main-braces, 
And  "  Shiver  my  timbers !"  and  other  odd  phrases 
Employed  by  old  pilots  with  hard-featured  faces ; — 
Of  the  expletives  seafaring  Gentlemen  use. 
The  allusions  they  make  to  the  eyes  of  their  crews ; — 

How  the  Sailors,  too,  swear.     How  they  cherish  their  hair, 
And  what  very  long  pigtails  a  great  many  wear. — 
But,  Reader,  I  scorn  it — the  fact  is,  I  fear. 
To  be  candid,  I  can't  make  these  matters  so  clear 
As  Marryat,  or  Cooper,  or  Captain  Chamier, 
Or  Sir  E.  Lytton  Bulwer,  who  brought  up  the  rear 
Of  the  "  Nauticals,"  just  at  the  end  of  the  year 
Eighteen  thirty-nine — (how  Time  flies! — Oh,  dear!) — • 
With  a  well-written  preface,  to  make  it  appear 
That  his  play,  the  "  Sea-Captain,"  's  by  no  means  small  beer. 
16 


242  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

There! — "brought  up  the  rear" — you  see  there's  a  mistake 

Which  none  of  the  authors  I've  mentioned  would  make : 

I  ought  to  have  said,  that  he  "  sail'd  in  their  wake." — 

So  I'll  merely  observe,  as  the  water  grew  rougher 

The  more  my  poor  hero  continued  to  suffer. 

Till  the  Sailors  themselves  cried,  in  pity,  "  Poor  Buffer !" 

Still  rougher  it  grew,     And  still  harder  it  blew, 
And  the  thunder  kicked  up  such  a  hallibaloo, 
That  even  the  Skipper  began  to  look  blue ; 

While  the  crew,  who  were  few,     Looked  very  queer,  too, 
And  seemed  not  to  know  what  exactly  to  do, 
And  they  who'd  the  charge  of  them  wrote  in  the  logs, 
"  Wind  N.  I^. — blows  a  hurricane — rains  cats  and  dogs." 
In  short  it  soon  grew  to  a  tempest  as  rude  as 
That  Shakspeare  describes  near  the  "  still  vext  Bermudas,"* 

When  the  winds,  in  their  sport,     Drove  aside  from  its  port 
The  King's  ship,  with  the  whole  Neapolitan  Court, 
And  swamped  it  to  give  "  the  King's  Son,  Ferdinand,"  a 
Soft  moment  or  two  with  the  Lady  Miranda, 
While  her  Pa  met  the  rest,  and  severely  rebuked  'em 
For  unhandsomely  doing  him  out  of  his  Dukedom. 
You  don't  want  me,  however,  to  paint  you  a  Storm, 
As  so  many  have  done,  and  in  colors  so  warm  : 
Lord  Byron,  for  instance,  in  manner  facetious, 
Mr.  Ainsworth  more  gravely, — see  also  Lucretius, 
— A  writer  who  gave  me  no  trifling  vexation 
When  a  youngster  at  school  on  Dean  Colet's  foundation. — 

Suffice  it  to  say     That  the  whole  of  that  day, 
And  the  next,  and  the  next,  they  were  scudding  away 

Quite  out  of  their  course,     Propelled  by  the  force 
Of  those  flatulent  folks  known  in  Classical  story  as 
Aquilo,  Libs,  Notus,  Auster,  and  Boreas, 

Driven  quite  at  their  mercy    'Twixt  Guernsey  and  Jersey, 
Till  at  length  they  came  bump  on  the  rocks  and  the  shallows. 
In  West  longitude  One,  fifty-seven,  near  St.  Maloes ; 

There  you  will  not  be  surprised    That  the  vessel  capsized, 

*  See  Appendix,  p.  254. 


TUB  BAGMAN'S  DOO.  243 

Or  that  Blogg,  who  had  made,  from  intestine  commotions, 
His  specifical  gravity  less  than  the  Ocean's, 

Shoukl  go  floating  away,     'Midst  the  surges  and  spray, 
Like  a  cork  in  a  gutter,  Avhich,  swoln  by  a  shower. 
Runs  down  Holborn-hill  about  nine  knots  an  hour. 

You've  seen,  I've  no  doubt,  at  Bartholomew  fair, 
Gentle  Reader, — that  is,  if  you've  ever  been  there, — 
With  their  hands  tied  behind  them,  some  two  or  three  pair 
Of  boys  round  a  bucket  set  up  on  a  chair. 

Skipping,  and  dipping     Eyes,  nose,  chin,  and  lip  in, 
Their  faces  and  hair  with  the  water  all  dripping. 
In  an  anxious  attempt  to  catch  hold  of  a  pippin, 
That  bobs  up  and  down  in  the  water  whenever 
They  touch  it,  as  mocking  the  fruitless  endeavor ; 
Exactly  as  Poets  say, — how,  though,  they  can't  tell  us, — 
Old  Nick's  Nonpareils  play  at  bob  with  poor  Tantalus. 

— Stay  !^ — I'm  not  clear     But  I'm  rather  out  here ; 
'Twas  the  water  itself  that  slipped  from  him,  I  fear ; 
Faith,  I  can't  recollect — and  I  haven't  Lempriere. — 
No  matter, — poor  Blogg  went  on  ducking  and  bobbing, 
Sneezing  out  the  salt  water,  and  gulping  and  sobbing. 
Just  as  Clarence,  in  Shakspeare,  describes  all  the  qualms  he 
Experienced  while  dreaming  they'd  drowned  him  in  Malmsey. 

"  O  Lord,"  he  thought,  "  what  pain  it  was  to  drown !" 
And  saw  great  fishes  with  great  goggling  eyes. 

Glaring  as  he  was  bobbing  up  and  down, 

And  looking  as  they  thought  him  quite  a  prize  ; 

When,  as  he  sank,  and  all  was  growing  dark, 

A  something  seized  him  with  its  jaws ! — a  shark  ? — 

No  such  thing.  Reader : — most  opportunely  for  Blogg, 
'Twas  a  very  large,  web-footed,  curly-tailed  Dog ! 


I'm  not  much  of  a  trav'ller,  and  really  can't  boast 
That  I  know  a  great  deal  of  the  Brittany  coast ; 

But  I've  often  heard  say    That  e'en  to  this  day, 


244  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

The  people  of  Granville,  St.  Maloes,  and  thereabout 
Are  a  class  that  society  doesn't  much  care  about ; 
Men  who  gain  a  subsistence  by  contraband  dealing, 
And  a  mode  of  abstraction  strict  jieople  call  "  stealing ;" 
Notwithstanding  all  which,  they  are  civil  of  speech. 
Above  all  to  a  stranger  who  comes  within  reach ; 

And  they  were  so  to  Blogg     When  the  curly-tailed  Dog 
At  last  dragged  him  out,  high  and  dry,  on  the  beach. 

But  we  all  have  been  told,     By  the  proverb  of  old. 
By  no  means  to  think  "  all  that  glitters  is  gold  ;" 

And,  in  fact,  some  advance     That  most  people  in  France 
Join  the  manners  and  air  of  a  Mattre  de  Danse 
To  the  morals  (as  Johnson  of  Chesterfield  said) 
Of  an  elderly  Lady,  in  Babylon  bred, 
Much  addicted  to  flirting,  and  dressing  in  red. — 

Be  this  as  it  might.     It  embarrassed  Blogg  quite 
To  find  those  about  him  so  very  polite. 


A  suspicious  observer  perhaps  might  have  traced 
The  jyetites  soins,  tendered  with  so  much  good  taste, 
To  the  sight  of  an  old-fashioned  pocket-book,  placed 
In  a  black  leather  belt  well  secured  round  his  waist. 
And  a  ring  set  with  diamonds  his  finger  that  graced, 
So  brilliant  no  one  could  have  guessed  they  were  paste. 

The  group  on  the  shore     Consisted  of  four ; 
You  will  wonder,  perhaps,  there  were  not  a  few  more  ; 
But  the  fact  is  they've  not,  in  that  part  of  the  nation. 
What  Malthus  would  term  a  "  too  dense  population ;" 
Indeed  the  sole  sign  there  of  man's  habitation 

Was  merely  a  single     Rude  hut  in  a  dingle 
That  led  away  inland  direct  from  the  shingle, 
Its  sides  clothed  with  underwood,  gloomy  and  dark. 
Some  two  hundred  yards  above  high-water  mark ; 

And  thither  the  party,     So  cordial  and  hearty. 
Viz.,  an  old  man,  his  wife,  and  two  lads,  made  a  start,  he, 

The  Bagman,  proceeding,     With  equal  good  breeding, 
To  express,  in  indiflPerent  French,  all  he  feels. 
The  great  curly-tailed  Dog  keeping  close  to  his  heels. — 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  245 

They  soon  reached  the  hut,  which  seemed  partly  in  ruin, 
All  the  way  bowing,  chattering,  shrugging,  Mon  Dieuiug, 
Grimacing,  and  what  sailors  call  parley-vooing. 


Is  it  Paris,  or  Kitchener,  Reader,  exhorts 
You,  whenever  your  stomach's  at  all  out  of  sorts, 
To  try,  if  you  find  richer  viands  won't  stop  in  it, 
A  basin  of  good  mutton  broth  wit^  a  chop  in  it  ? 
(Such  a  basin  and  chop  as  I  once  heard  a  witty  one 
Call,  at  the  Garrick,  a  "  c — d  Committee  one," 
An  expression,  I  own,  I  do  not  think  a  pretty  one.) 

However,  it's  clear     That,  with  sound  table  beer, 
Such  a  mess  as  I  speak  of  is  very  good  cheer ; 

Especially  too     When  a  person's  wet  through. 
And  is  hungry,  and  tired,  and  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Now  just  such  a  mess  of  delicious  hot  pottage 
Was  smoking  away  when  they  entered  the  cottage, 
And  casting  a  truly  delicious  perfume 
Through  the  whole  of  an  ugly,  old,  ill-furnished  room ; 

"  Hot,  smoking  hot,"     On  the  fire  was  a  pot 
Well  replenished,  but  really  I  can't  say  with  what ; 
For,  famed  as  the  French  always  are  for  ragouts, 
No  creature  can  tell  what  they  put  in  their  stews. 
Whether  bull-frogs,  old  gloves,  or  old  wigs,  or  old  shoes ; 
Notwithstanding,  when  offered  I  rarely  refuse. 
Any  more  than  poor  Blogg  did,  when,  seeing  the  reeky 
Repast  placed  before  him,  scarce  able  to  speak,  he 
In  ecstacy  muttered,  "  By  Jove,  Cocky-leeky !" 

In  an  instant,  as  soon    As  they  gave  him  a  spoon, 
Every  feeling  and  faculty  bent  on  the  gruel,  he 
No  more  blamed  Fortune  for  treating  him  cruelly, 
But  fell  tooth  and  nail  on  the  soup  and  the  houilli. 


Meanwhile  that  old  man  standing  by 
Subducted  his  long  coat-tails  on  high, 
With  his  back  to  the  fire,  as  if  to  dry 


246  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

A  part  of  his  dress  which  the  watery  sky 

Had  visited  rather  inclemently. — 

Blandly  he  smiled,  but  still  he  looked  sly, 

And  a  something  sinister  lurked  in  his  eye. 

Indeed,  had  you  seen  him  his  maritime  dress  in. 

You'd  have  owned  his  appearance  was  not  prepossessing ; 

He'd  a  "  dreadnought"  coat,  and  heavy  sabots 

With  thick  wooden  soles  turned  up  at  the  toes. 

His  nether  man  cased  in  a  striped  quelque  chose, 

And  a  hump  on  his  back,  and  a  great  hooked  nose, 

So  that  nine  out  of  ten  would  be  led  to  suppose 

That  the  person  before  them  was  Punch  in  plain  clothes. 

Yet  still,  as  I  told  you,  he  smiled  on  all  present, 
And  did  all  that  lay  in  his  power  to  look  pleasant. 

The  old  woman,  too.     Made  a  mighty  ado, 
Helping  her  guest  to  a  deal  of  the  stew ; 
She  fished  up  the  meat,  and  she  helped  him  to  that. 
She  helped  him  to  lean,  and  she  helped  him  to  fat, 
And  it  looked  like  Hare — but  it  might  have  been  Cat. 
The  little  garcons  too  strove  to  express 
Their  sympathy  towards  the  "  Child  of  distress" 
With  a  great  deal  of  juvenile  French  politesse: 

But  the  Bagman  bluff    Continued  to  "  stuff" 
Of  the  fat  and  the  lean,  and  the  tender  and  tough. 
Till  they  thought  he  would  never  cry,  "  Hold,  enough !" 
And  the  old  woman's  tones  became  far  less  agreeable, 
Sounding  like  peste  !  and  sacre  !  and  diahle  I 

I've  seen  an  old  saw,  which  is  well  worth  repeating, 
That  says, 

**<3!&oo"D  iEatgnge 

You'll  find  it  so  printed  by  OTaitCin  or  S23j)nfegn, 
And  a  very  good  proverb  it  is,  to  my  thinking. 

Blogg  thought  so  too ; —     As  he  finished  his  stew, 
His  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the  word  "  Mm^hleu  !" 
Pronounced  by  the  old  woman  under  her  breath. 
Now,  not  knowing  what  she  could  mean  by  "  Blue  Death !' 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  247 

He  conceived  she  referred  to  a  delicate  brewing 
Which  is  almost  synonymous, — namely,  "  Blue  Ruin." 
So  he  pursed  up  his  lip  to  a  smile,  and  with  glee, 
In  his  cockneyfied  accent,  responded,  "Oh,  Vee!" 

Which  made  her  understand  he     Was  asking  for  brandy ; 
So  she  turned  to  the  cupboard,  and,  having  some  handy, 
Produced,  rightly  deeming  he  would  not  object  to  it, 
An  orbicular  bulb  with  a  very  long  neck  to  it ; 
In  fact  you  perceive  her  mistake  was  the  same  as  his. 
Each  of  them  "  reasoning  right  from  wrong  premises ;" 

— And  here,  by  the  way,     Allow  me  to  say — 
Kind  Reader,  you  sometimes  permit  me  to  stray — 
'Tis  strange  the  French  prove,  when  they  take  to  asjiersing, 
So  inferior  to  us  in  the  science  of  cursing ; 

Kick  a  Frenchman  down  stairs.     How  absurdly  he  swears, 
And  how  odd  'tis  to  hear  him,  when  beat  to  a  jelly. 
Roar  out,  in  a  passion,  "  Blue  Death !"  and  "  Blue  Belly !" 


"  To  return  to  our  sheep  "  from  this  little  digression : — 

Blogg's  features  assumed  a  complacent  expression 

As  he  emptied  his  glass,  and  she  gave  him  a  fresh  one ; 

Too  little  he  heeded     How  fast  they  succeeded. 
Perhaps  you  or  I  might  have  done,  though,  as  he  did ; 
For  when  once  Madam  Fortune  deals  out  her  hard  raps. 

It's  amazing  to  think     How  one  "  cottons  "  to  Drink ! 
At  such  times,  of  all  things  in  nature,  perhaps. 
There's  not  one  that  is  half  so  seducing  as  Schnapps. 


Mr.  Blogg,  besides  being  uncommonly  dry, 
Was,  like  most  other  Bagmen,  remarkably  shy, 

— "  Did  not  like  to  deny  " —     "  Felt  obliged  to  comply ' 
Every  time  that  she  asked  him  to  "  wet  t'other  eye :" 
For  'twas  worthy  remark  that  she  spared  not  the  stoup, 
Though  before  she  had  seemed  so  to  grudge  him  the  soup. 

At  length  the  fumes  rose     To  his  brain  ;  and  his  nose 
Gave  hints  of  a  strong  disposition  to  doze. 
And  a  yearning  to  seek  "  horizontal  repose." — 


248  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

His  queer-looking  host,     Who,  firm  at  his  post. 
During  all  the  long  meal  had  continued  to  toast 

That  garment  'twere  rude  to     Do  more  than  allude  to. 
Perceived,  from  his  breathing  and  nodding,  the  views 
Of  his  guest  were  directed  to  "  taking  a  snooze :" 
So  he  caught  up  a  lamp  in  his  huge  dirty  paw, 
With  (as  Blogg  used  to  tell  it)  "  Mounseer,  swivvy  maw  T 

And  "  marshalled  "  him  so     "  The  way  he  should  go," 
Up  stairs  to  an  attic,  large,  gloomy,  and  low, 

Without  table  or  chair,     Or  a  movable  there, 
Save  an  old-fashioned  bedstead,  much  out  of  repair. 
That  stood  at  the  end  most  removed  from  the  stair. — 

With  a  grin  and  a  shrug     The  host  points  to  the  rug, 
Just  as  much  as  to  say,  "  There ! — I  think  you'll  be  snug !" 

Puts  the  light  on  the  floor,     Walks  to  the  door, 
Makes  a  formal  Salaam,  and  is  then  seen  no  more : 
When  just  as  the  ear  lost  the  sound  of  his  tread. 
To  the  Bagman's  surprise,  and  at  first  to  his  dread, 
The  great  curly-tailed  Dog  crept  from  under  the  bed ! — 


— It's  a  very  nice  thing  when  a  man's  in  a  fright. 
And  thinks  matters  all  wrong,  to  find  matters  all  right ; 
As,  for  instance,  when  going  home  late-ish  at  night 
Through  a  Churchyard,  and  seeing  a  thing  all  in  white, 
Which,  of  course,  one  is  led  to  consider  a  Sprite, 

To  find  that  the  Ghost     Is  merely  a  post. 
Or  a  miller,  or  chalky-faced  donkey  at  most ; 
Or,  when  taking  a  w^alk  as  the  evenings  begin 
To  close,  or,  as  some  people  call  it,  "  draw  in," 
And   some   undefined   form,   "  looming   large "   through   the 

haze. 
Presents  itself,  right  in  your  path,  to  your  gaze. 

Inducing  a  dread     Of  a  knock  on  the  head. 
Or  a  severed  carotid,  to  find  that,  instead 
Of  one  of  those  ruffians  who  murder  and  fleece  men, 
It's  your  uncle,  or  one  of  the  "  Rural  Policemen ;" — 

Then  the  blood  flows  again     Through  artery  and  vein ; 
You're  delighted  with  what  just  before  gave  you  pain; 


THE  BAGMAN'S  1)00.  249 

You  laugh  at  your  fears — and  your  friend  in  the  fog 

]\Ieets  a  welcome  as  cordial  us,  Anthony  Blogg 

Now  bestowed  on  his  friend — the  great  curly-tailed  Dog. 

For  the  Dog  leaped  up,  and  his  paws  found  a  place 

On  each  side  his  neck  in  a  canine  embrace, 

And  he  licked  Blogg's  hands,  and  he  licked  his  face, 

And  he  waggled  his  tail  as  much  as  to  say, 

"  Mr.  Blogg,  we've  foregathered  before  to-day  !" 

And  the  Bagman  saw,  as  he  noAV  sprang  up. 

What,  beyond  all  doubt,     He  might  have  found  out 
Before,  had  he  not  been  so  eager  to  sup, 
'Twas  Sancho  ! — the  Dog  he  had  reared  from  a  puj) ! — 
The  Dog  who  when  sinking  had  seized  his  hair, — 
The  Dog  who  had  saved,  and  conducted  him  there, — 
The  Dog  he  had  lost  out  of  Billiter  Square ! ! 

It's  passing  sweet,     An  absolute  treat. 
When  friends,  long  severed  by  distance,  meet, — 
With  what  warmth  and  affection  each  other  they  greet ! 
Especially  too,  as  we  very  well  know. 
If  there  seems  any  chance  of  a  little  cadeau, 
A  "  Present  from  Brighton,"  or  "  Token  "  to  show, 
In  the  shape  of  a  work-box,  ring,  bracelet,  or  so, 
That  our  friends  don't  forget  us,  although  they  may  go 
To  Ramsgate,  or  Rome,  or  Fernando  Po. 
If  some  little  advantage  seems  likely  to  start, 
From  a  fifty-pound  note  to  a  two-penny  tart. 
It's  surprising  to  see  how  it  softens  the  heart. 
And   you'll   find   those   whose   hopes   from   the   other   are 

strongest. 
Use,  in  common,  endearments  the  thickest  and  longest. 

But,  it  was  not  so  here ;     For  although  it  is  clear. 
When  abroad,  and  we  have  not  a  single  fi'iend  near, 
E'en  a  cur  that  will  love  us  becomes  very  dear. 
And  the  balance  of  interest  'twixt  him  and  the  Dog 
Of  course  was  inclining  to  Anthony  Blogg, 

Yet  he,  first  of  all,  ceased     To  encourage  the  beast, 
Perhaps  thinking  "  Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast ;" 


250  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

And  besides,  as  we've  said,  being  sleepy  and  mellow, 

He  grew  tired  of  patting,  and  crying  "  Poor  fellow  !" 

So  his  smile  by  degrees  hardened  into  a  frown, 

And  his  "  That's  a  good  dog !"  into  "  Down,  Sancho !  down !" 

But  nothing  could  stop  his  mute  fav'rite's  caressing, 

Who,  in  fact,  seemed  resolved  to  prevent  his  undressing, 

Using  paws,  tail,  and  head.     As  if  he  had  said, 
"  Most  beloved  of  masters,  pray,  don't  go  to  bed ; 
You  had  much  better  sit  up  and  pat  me  instead  !" 
Nay,  at  last,  when,  determined  to  take  some  repose, 
Blogg  threw  himself  down  on  the  outside  the  clothes, 

Spite  of  all  he  could  do,     The  dog  jumped  up  too, 
And  kept  him  awake  with  his  very  cold  nose ; 

Scratching  and  whining,     And  moaning  and  pining, 
Till  Blogg  really  believed  he  must  have  some  design  in 
Thus  breaking  his  rest ;  above  all,  when  at  length 
The  dog  scratched  him  off  from  the  bed  by  sheer  strength. 

Extremely  annoyed  by  the  "  tarnation  whop,"  as  it 
's  called  in  Kentuck,  on  his  head  and  its  opposite, 

Blogg  showed  fight ;     When  he  saw,  by  the  light 
Of  the  flickering  candle,  that  had  not  yet  quite 
Burnt  down  in  the  socket,  though  not  over  bright, 
Certain  dark-colored  stains,  as  of  blood  newly  spilt, 
Eevealed  by  the  dog's  having  scratched  off  the  quilt, — 
Which  hinted  a  story  of  horror  and  guilt ! — 

'Twas  "  no  mistake," —     He  was  "  wide  awake  " 
In  an  instant ;  for,  when  only  decently  drunk, 
Nothing  sobers  a  man  so  completely  as  "  funk." 

And  hark ! — what's  that  ? —     They  have  got  into  chat 
In  the  kitchen  below — what  the  deuce  are  they  at  ? — 
There's  the  ugly  old  fisherman  scolding  his  wife — 
And  she — by  the  PojDe !  she's  whetting  a  knife ! — 

At  each  twist     Of  her  wrist. 

And  her  great  mutton  fist, 
The  edge  of  the  weapon  sounds  shriller  and  louder ! — 

The  fierce  kitchen  fire     Had  not  made  Blogg  perspire 
Half  so  much,  or  a  dose  of  the  best  James's  powder, — 


THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG.  251 


It  ceases — all's  silent ! — and  now,  I  declare, 
There's  somebody  crawls  up  that  rickety  stair. 


The  horrid  old  ruffian  comes,  cat-like,  creeping ; — 

He  opens  the  door  just  sufficient  to  peep  in, 

And  sees,  as  he  fancies,  the  Bagman  sleeping ! 

For  Blogg,  when  he'd  once  ascertained  that  there  was  some 

"  Precious  mischief"  on  foot,  had  resolved  to  play  "  'possum  ;" — 

Down  he  went,  legs  and  head.     Flat  on  the  bed. 
Apparently  sleeping  as  sound  as  the  dead ; 
"While,  though  none  who  looked  at  him  would  think  such  a 

thing. 
Every  nerve  in  his  frame  was  braced  up  for  a  spring. 

Then,  just  as  the  villain     Crept,  stealthily  still,  in. 
And  you'd  not  have  insured  his  guest's  life  for  a  shilling. 
As  the  knife  gleamed  on  high,  bright  and  sharp  as  a  razor, 
Blogg,  starting  upright,  "tipped"  the  fellow  "a  facer;" — 
— Down  went  man  and  weapon. — Of  all  sorts  of  blows. 
From  what  Mr.  Jackson  reports,  I  suppose 
There  are  few  that  surpass  a  flush  hit  on  the  nose. 

Now  had  I  the  pen  of  old  Ossian  or  Homer 

(Though  each  of  these  names  some  pronounce  a  misnomer. 

And  say  the  first  person     Was  called  James  M'Pherson, 
While  as  to  the  second,  they  stoutly  declare 
He  was  no  one  knows  who,  and  born  no  one  knows  where), 
Or  had  I  the  quill  of  Pierce  Egan,  a  writer 
Acknowledged  the  best  theoretical  fighter 

For  the  last  twenty  years,     By  the  lively  young  Peers, 
Who,  doffing  their  coronets,  collars,  and  ermine,  treat 
Boxers  to  "  Max,"  at  the  One  Tun  in  Jermyn  Street; — 
I  say,  could  I  borrow  these  gentlemen's  Muses, 
More  skilled  than  my  meek  one  in  "fibbings"  and  bruises, 

I'd  describe  now  to  you     As  "  prime  a  set-to," 
And  regular  "  turn-up,"  as  ever  you  knew  ; 
Not  inferior  in  "  bottom  "  to  aught  you  have  read  of 
Since  Cribb,  years  ago,  half  knocked  Molyueux's  head  off. 


252  MR.  PETERS' S  STORY. 

But  my  dainty  Urania  says,  "  Such  things  are  shocking !" 

Lace  mittens  she  loves,     Detesting  "  the  Gloves  ;" 
And  turning,  with  air  most  disdainfully  mocking, 
From  Melpomene's  buskin,  adopts  the  silk  stocking. 

So,  as  far  as  I  can  see,     I  must  leave  you  to  "  fancy  " 
The  thumps  and  the  bumps,  and  the  ups  and  the  downs. 
And  the  tajDS,  and  the  slaps,  and  the  raps  on  the  crowns. 
That  passed  'twixt  the  Husband,  Wife,  Bagman,  and  Dog, 
As  Blogg  rolled  over  them,  and  they  rolled  over  Blogg, 

While  what's  called  "  the  Claret"     Flew  over  the  garret,- 

Merely  stating  the  fact,     As  each  other  they  whacked, 
The  Dog  his  old  Master  most  gallantly  backed ; 
Making  both  the  gargons,  who  came  running  in,  sheer  off. 
With  "  Hippoly te's  "  thumb  and  "  Alphonse's"  left  ear  off"; 

Next,  making  a  stoop  on     The  buffeting  group  on 
The  floor,  rent  in  tatters  the  old  woman's  j'ttpoji; 
Then  the  old  man  turned  up,  and  a  fresh  bite  of  Sancho's 
Tore  out  the  whole  seat  of  his  striped  Calimancoes. — 

Really,  which  way     This  desperate  fray 
Might  have  ended  at  last,  I'm  not  able  to  say, 
The  dog  keeping  thus  the  assassins  at  bay : 
But  a  few  fresh  arrivals  decided  the  day ; 

For  bounce  went  the  door.     In  came  half  a  score 
Of  the  passengers,  sailors,  and  one  or  two  more 
Who  had  aided  the  party  in  gaining  the  shore ! 


It's  a  great  many  years  ago — mine  then  were  few — 
Since  I  spent  a  short  time  in  old  Courageux ; — 

I  think  that  they  say     She  had  been,  in  her  day, 
A  First-rate,  but  was  then  what  they  termed  a  Rasee, — 
And  they  took  me  on  board  in  the  Downs,  where  she  lay 
(Captain  Wilkinson  held  the  command,  by  the  way). 
In  her  I  picked  up,  on  that  single  occasion, 
The  little  I  know  that  concerns  Navigation, 
And  obtained,  inter  alia,  some  vague  information 
Of  a  practice  which  often,  in  cases  of  robbing, 
Is  adopted  on  shipboard — I  think  it's  called  "  cobbing." 
How  it's  managed  exactly  I  really  can't  say. 


THE  BAGMAN'S   DOG.  253 

But  I  think  that  a  bootjack  is  brought  into  play — 
That  is,  if  I'm  right : — it  exceeds  my  ability 

To  tell  how  'tis  done ;     But  the  system  is  one 
Of  which  Saucho's  exploit  would  increase  the  facility, 
And,  from  all  I  can  learn,  I'd  much  rather  be  robbed 
Of  the  little  I  have  in  my  purse  than  be  "  cobbed ;" 

That's  mere  matter  of  taste : 

But  the  Frenchman  was  placed — 
I  mean  the  old  scoundrel  whose  actions  we've  traced — 
In  such  a  position  that,  on  this  unmasking, 
His  consent  was  the  last  thing  the  men  thought  of  asking. 

The  old  woman,  too,     Was  obliged  to  go  through, 
With  her  boys,  the  rough  discipline  used  by  the  crew. 
Who,  before  they  let  one  of  the  set  see  the  back  of  them, 
"Cobbed"  the  whole  party, — ay,  "every  man  Jack  of  them." 

MORAL. 

And  now,  Gentle  Reader,  before  that  I  say 
Farewell  for  the  present,  and  wish  you  good  day, 
Attend  to  the  moral  I  draw  from  my  lay : — 

If  ever  you  travel,  like  Anthony  Blogg, 
Be  wary  of  strangers ! — don't  take  too  much  grog ! 
And  don't  fall  asleep,  if  you  should,  like  a  hog ! — 
Above  all,  carry  with  you  a  curly-tailed  Dog ! 

Lastly,  don't  act  like  Blogg,  who,  I  say  it  Avith  blushing. 
Sold  Sancho  next  month  for  two  guineas,  at  Flushing ; 
But  still  on  these  words  of  the  Bard  keep  a  fixed  eye, 
Ingratum  si  dixeris,  omnia  dixti! 

h^Fmjvoye. 

I  felt  so  disgusted  with  Blogg,  from  sheer  shame  of  him 
I  never  once  thought  to  inquire  what  became  of  him ; 
If  you  want  to  know,  Reader,  the  way,  I  opine. 

To  achieve  your  design, —     Mind,  it's  no  wish  of  mine, — 
Is  (a  penny  will  do  't)  by  addressing  a  line 
To  Turner,  Dry,  Weipersyde,  Rogers,  and  Pine. 


254  MR.   PETERS' S  STORY. 


APPENDIX* 


Since  penning  this  stanza,  a  learned  Antiquary 
Has  put  my  poor  Muse  in  no  trifling  quandary 
By  writing  an  essay  to  prove  that  he  knows  a  " •• 

Spot  which,  in  truth,  is     The  real  "  Bermoothes,"     •  ■ 
In  the  Mediterranean, — now  called  Lampedosa ;  . 

— For  proofs,  having  made,  as  he  further  alleges,  stir, 
An  entry  was  found  in  the  old  Parish  Register, 
The  which  at  his  instance  the  excellent  Yicar  ex- 
Tracted :  viz.,  "  Caliban,  base  son  of  Sycorax." 

— He  had  rather,  by  half,     Have  found  Prospero's  "  Staff;' 
But  'twas  useless  to  dig,  for  the  want  of  pick  or  axe. — 
Colonel  Pasley,  however,  'tis  everywhere  said, 
Now  he's  blown  up  the  old  Royal  George  at  Spithead, 
And  the  great  cliff  at  Dover,  of  which  we've  all  read, 
Takes  his  whole  apparatus,  and  goes  out  to  look 
And  see  if  he  can't  try  and  blow  up  "  the  Book." 
— Gentle  Reader,  farewell ! — If  I  add  one  more  line, 
"  He'll  be,  in  all  likelihood,  blowing  up  mine  /" 

*  See  page  242. 


THE 


INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


SECOND    SEKIES. 


TO  RICHARD  BENTLEY,  Esq. 

My  Dear  Sir: 

You  tell  me  that  "  a  generous  and  enlightened  Public "  haa 
given  a  favorable  reception  to  those  extracts  from  our  family- 
papers,  which,  at  your  suggestion,  were  laid  before  it  some  two 
years  since ; — and  you  hint,  with  all  possible  delicacy,  that  a 
second  volume  might  not  be  altogether  unacceptable  at  a  period 
of  the  year  Avhen  "  auld-warld  stories "  are  more  especially  in 
request.  With  all  my  heart, — the  old  oak  chest  is  not  yet 
empty;  in  addition  to  which  I  have  recently  laid  my  hand 
upon  a  long  MS.  correspondence  of  my  great-uncle.  Sir  Pere- 
grine Ingoldsby,  a  cadet  of  the  family,  who  somehow  contrived 
to  attract  the  notice  of  George  the  Second,  and  received  from 
his  "honor-giving  hand"  the  accolade  of  knighthood.  To  this 
last-named  source  I  am  indebted  for  several  of  the  accompany- 
ing histories,  while  my  inestimable  friend  Simpkinson  has  bent 
all  the  powers  of  his  mighty  mind  to  the  task.  From  Father 
John's  stories  I  have  drawn  largely.  Our  "  Honorable"  friend 
Sucklethumbkin — by  the  way,  he  has  been  beating  our  covers 
lately,  when  he  shot  a  woodcock  and  one  of  the  Governor's 
pointers — gives  a  graphic  account  of  the  Operatic  "  row "  in 
which  he  was  heretofore  so  conspicuous ;  while  even  Mrs.  Bar- 
ney Maguire  (nee  Mademoiselle  Pauline),  whose  horror  of  Mrs. 
Botherby's  cap.  has  no  jot  diminished,  furnishes  me  with  the 
opening  Legend  of  the  series  from  the  historicttes  of  her  own 

belle  France. 

(255) 


250  PREFACE   TO   SECOND   SERIES. 

AVhy  will  you  not  run  down  to  Tappington  this  Christmas  ? — 
We  have  been  rather  busy  of  late  carrying  into  execution  the 
enclosure  of  Swingfield  Minnis  under  the  auspices  of  my  Lord 
Radnor,  and  her  Majesty's  visit  to  the  neighborhood  has  kept 
us  quite  alive :  the  Prince  in  one  of  his  rides  pulled  up  at  the 
end  of  the  avenue,  and,  as  A  *  *  told  Sucklethumbkin,  was 
much  taken  with  the  picturesque  appearance  of  our  old  gable 
ends.  Unluckily  w'e  were  all  at  Canterbury  that  morning,  or 
proud  indeed  should  we  have  been  to  offer  his  Royal  Highness 
the  humble  hospitalities  of  the  Hall, — and  then — fancy  Mrs. 
Botherby's  "  My  Gracious !"  By  the  way,  the  old  lady  tells 
me  you  left  your  nightcap  here  on  your  last  visit ;  it  is  laid  up 
in  lavender  for  you ; — come  and  reclaim  it.  The  Yule  log  will 
burn  bright  as  ever  in  the  cedar  room.  Bin  No.  6  is  still  one 
liquid  ruby — the  old  October  yet  smiles  like  mantling  amber, 
in  utter  disdain  of  that  vile  concoction  of  chamomile  which  you 
so  pseudonymously  dignify  with  the  title  of  "  Bitter  Ale." — 
Make  a  start  then ; — pitch  printer's-ink  to  old  Harry, — and 
come  and  spend  a  fortnight  with 

Yours,  till  the  crack  of  doom, 


THOMAS  INGOLDSBY. 


Tappington  Everard, 
Dec.  10,  18-12. 


A   LEGEND    OF  FRANCE.  267 

STfte  ISlacIt  Wousquetaire. 

A  LEGEND  OF  FRANCE. 
CANTO  I. 

FRANgOIS  XAVIER  AUGUSTS  was  a  gay  Mousque- 
taire, 
The  Pride  of  the  Camp,  the  delight  of  the  Fair : 
He'd  a  mien  so  distingue  and  so  debonnaire, 
And  shrugged  with  a  grace  so  recherche  and  rare, 
And  he  twirled  his  moustache  with  so  charming  an  air, 
— His  moustaches  I  should  say,  because  he'd  a  pair, — 
And,  in  short,  show'd  so  much  of  the  true  sgavoir  Jaire, 
All  the  ladies  in  Paris  were  wont  to  declare, 

That  could  any  one  draw     Them  from  Dian's  strict  law, 
Into  what  Mrs.  Ramsbottom  calls  a  "  Fox  Paw," 
It  would  be  Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste  de  St.  Foix. 

Now,  I'm  sorry  to  say,     At  that  time  of  day 
The  Court  of  Versailles  was  a  little  too  gay ; 
The  Courtiers  were  all  much  addicted  to  Play, 
To  Bordeaux,  Chambertin,  Frontignac,  St.  Peray, 

Lafitte,  Chateau  Margaux,     And  Sillery  (a  cargo 
On  which  John  Bull  sensibly  (?)  lays  an  embargo). 

While  Louis  Quatorze     Kept  about  him,  in  scores. 
What  the  Noblesse,  in  courtesy,  termed  his  "  Jane  Shores," 
— They  were  called  by  a  much  coarser  name  out  of  doors. 

This,  we  all  must  admit,  in     A  King's  not  befitting ! 
For  such  courses,  when  followed  by  persons  of  quality, 
Are  apt  to  detract  on  the  score  of  morality. 

Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste  acted  much  like  the  rest  of  them. 
Dressed,  drank,  and  fought,  and  chasseed  with  the  best  of  them ; 

Took  ceil  de  perdrix     Till  he  scarcely  could  see, 
He  would  then  sally  out  in  the  streets  for  a  "  spree ;" 

His  rapier  he'd  draw.     Pink  a  Bourgeois 
(A  word  which  the  English  translate  "  Johnny  Raw  "), 
17 


258  THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

For  your  thorough  French  Courtier,  whenever  the  fit  he's  in, 

Thinks  it  prime  fun  to  astonish  a  citizen  ; 

And  perhaps  it's  no  wonder  that  this  kind  of  scrapes, 

In  a  nation  which  Voltaire,  in  one  of  his  japes, 

Defines  "  an  amalgam  of  Tigers  and  Apes," 

Should  be  merely  considered  as  "  Little  Escapes." 

But  I'm  sorry  to  add,     Things  are  almost  as  bad 
A  great  deal  nearer  home,  and  that  similar  pranks 
Amongst  young  men  who  move  in  the  very  first  ranks 
Are  by  no  means  confined  to  the  land  of  the  Franks. 

Be  this  as  it  will     In  the  general,  still, 

Though  blame  him  we  must.     It  is  really  but  just 
To  our  lively  young  friend,  Franyois  Xavier  Auguste, 

To  say,  that  howe'er     Well  known  his  faults  were, 
At  his  Bacchanal  parties  he  always  drank  fair, 
And,  when  gambling  his  worst,  always  played  on  the  square; 
So  that,  being  much  more  of  pigeon  than  rook,  he 
Lost  large  sums  at  faro  (a  game  like  "  Blind  "Hookey  "), 

And  continued  to  lose,     And  to  give  I  O  U's, 
Till  he  lost  e'en  the  credit  he  had  with  the  Jews ; 
And,  a  parallel  if  I  may  venture  to  draw 
Between  Franyois  Xavier  Auguste  de  St.  Foix 
And  his  namesake,  a  still  more  distinguished  Frangois, 

Who  wrote  to  his  "scewr"*     From  Pavia,  "Man  Cceur, 
I  have  lost  all  I  had  in  the  world  fors  Vhonneur." 

So  St.  Foix  might  have  wrote     No  dissimilar  note, 
"  Vive  la  bagatelle  !  toxijours  gai — idem  semper — 
I've  lost  all  I  had  in  the  world  but — my  temper !" 

From  the  very  beginning,     Indeed,  of  his  sinning, 
His  air  was  so  cheerful,  his  manners  so  winning. 
That  once  he  prevailed — or  his  friends  coin  the  tale  for  him — 
On  the  bailiff  who  "nabbsd"  him,  himself  to  "go  bail"  for  him. 

*  Mrs.  Ingoldsby,  who  is  deeply  road  in  Robertson,  informs  me  that  this  is  a  mis- 
take ;  tliat  the  lady  to  whom  this  memorable  billet  was  delivered  by  the  hands  of  Pen- 
nalosa  was  the  unfortunate  monarch's  mamma,  and  not  his  sister.  I  would  gladly 
rectify  the  error,  but,  then,— what  am  I  to  do  for  a  rhyme?— On  the  whole,  I  foar  I 
must  content  myself,  like  Talleyrand,  with  admitting  that  "it  is  worse  than  a  fault- 
it's  a  blunder !"  fur  which  enormity, — as  honest  old  Pepys  says  when  he  records  having 
kissed  his  cookmaid,— "  I  humbly  beg  pardon  of  Ileaven,"  and  Mrs.  Ingoldsby. 


A   LEGEND   OF  FRANCE.  259 

"Well — we  know  in  these  cases 

Your  "  Crabs"  and  "  Deuce  Aces" 
Are  wont  to  promote  frequent  changes  of  places ; 
Town  doctors,  indeed,  are  most  apt  to  declare 
That  there's  nothing  so  good  as  the  pure  "  country  air," 
Whenever  exhaustion  of  person,  or  purse,  in 
An  invalid  cramps  him,  and  sets  him  a-cursing ; 
A  habit,  I'm  very  much  grieved  at  divulging, 
Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste  was  too  prone  to  indulge  in. 

But  what  could  be  done  ?     It's  clear  as  the  sun 
That,  though  nothing's  more  easy  than  say,  "  Cut  and  run !" 
Yet  a  Guardsman  can't  live  without  some  sort  of  fun — 

E'en  I  or  you.     If  we'd  nothing  to  do. 
Should  soon  find  ourselves  looking  remarkably  blue. 

And,  since  no  one  denies     What's  so  plain  to  all  eyes, 
It  won't,  I  am  sure,  create  any  surprise, 
That  reflections  like  these  half  reduced  to  despair 
Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste,  the  gay  Black  Mousquetaire. 


Patience  par  force  !    He  considered,  of  course, 
But  in  vain — he  could  hit  on  no  sort  of  resource — 

Love  ? — Liquor  ? — Law  ? — Loo  ? 

They  would  each  of  them  do, 
There's  excitement  enough  in  all  four,  but  in  none  he 
Could  hope  to  get  on  saris  I'argent — i.  e.,  money. 
Love  ? — no ; — ladies  like  little  cadeaux  from  a  suitor. 
Liquor  ? — no, — that  won't  do,  when  reduced  to  "  the  Pewter." 

Then  Law  ? — 'tis  the  same ;     It's  a  very  fine  game, 
But  the  fees  and  delays  of  "  the  Courts"  are  a  shame, 
As  Lord  Brougham  says  himself— who's  a  very  great  name, 
Though  the  Times  made  it  clear  he  was  perfectly  lost  in  his 
Classic  attempt  at  translating  Demosthenes, 

And  don't  know  his  "  particles." —  Who  wrote  the  articles, 
Showing  his  Greek  up  so,  is  not  known  very  well ; 
Many  thought  Barnes,  others  Mitchell — some  Merivale ; 

But  it's  scarce  worth  debate,     Because  from  the  date 
Of  my  tale  one  conclusion  we  safely  may  draw. 
Viz. :  'twas  not  Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste  de  St.  Foix ! 


260  THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

Loo  ? — No ; — that  he  had  tried ;     'Twas,  in  fact,  his  weak 
side, 
But  required  more  than  any  a  purse  well  supplied. 
"  Love  ? — Liquor  ? — Law  ? — Loo  ?     No !  'tis  all  the  same  story. 
Stay!  I  have  it — Mafoi !  (that's  '  Odds  Bobs !')  there  is  Glory  ! 

Away  with  dull  care !     ViveleRoi!   Vive  la  Guerre  I 
Peste  !  I'd  almost  forgot  I'm  a  Black  Mousquetaire ! 

When  a  man  is  like  me,     Sans  six  sous,  sans  soud, 

A  bankrupt  in  purse,     And  in  character  worse. 
With  a  shocking  bad  hat,  and  his  credit  at  zero, 
What  on  earth  can  he  hope  to  become, — but  a  Hero  ? 

What  a  famous  thought  this  is !     I'll  go  as  Ulysses 
Of  old  did — like  him  I'll  see  manners  and  know  countries  ;* 
Cut  Paris, — and  gamiug, — and  throats  in  the  Low  Countries." 

So  said,  and  so  done — he  arranged  his  affairs, 

And  was  off  like  a  shot  to  his  Black  Mousquetaires. 

Now  it  happened  just  then     That  Field-Marshal  Turenne 
Was  a  good  deal  in  want  of  "  some  active  young  men," 

To  fill  up  the  gaps  Which,  through  sundry  mishaps, 
Had  been  made  in  his  ranks  by  a  certain  "  Great  Conde," 
A  General  unrivalled — at  least  in  his  own  day — 

Whose  valor  was  such     That  he  did  not  care  much 
If  he  fought  with  the  French, — or  the  Spaniards, — or  Dutch, — 
A  fact  which  has  stamped  him  a  rather  "  cool  hand," 
Being  nearly  related  to  Louis  le  Grand. 
It  had  been  all  the  same  had  that  King  been  his  brother ; 
He  fought  sometimes  with  one,  and  sometimes  with  another ; 

For  war,  so  exciting,     He  took  such  delight  in, 
He  did  not  care  whom  he  fought,  so  he  was  fighting. 
And,  as  I've  just  said,  had  amused  himself  then 
By  tickling  the  tail  of  Field-Marshal  Turenne ; 
Since  which,  the  Field-Marshal's  most  pressing  concern 
Was  to  tickle  some  other  Chief's  tail  in  his  turn. 
What  a  fine  thing  a  battle  is ! — not  one  of  those 
Which  one  saw  at  the  late  Mr.  Andrew  Ducrow's, 

*  Qui  mores  hominura  niultorum  vidit  et  urbes. 
Who  viewed  men's  manners,  Londons,  Yorks,  and  Derbys. 


A   LEGEND    OF  FRANCE.  261 

Where  a  dozen  of  scene-shifters,  drawn  up  in  rows, 
Would  a  dozen  more  scene-shifters  boldly  oppose, 

Taking  great  care  their   blows    Did  not  injure  their 
foes. 
And  alike,  save  in  color  and  cut  of  their  clothes, 
Which  were  varied  to  give  more  effect  to  "  Tableaux" 

While  Stickney  the   Great     Flung  the  gauntlet  to 
Fate, 
And  made  us  all  tremble,  so  gallantly  did  he  come 
On  to  encounter  bold  General  Widdicombe — 
But  a  real  good  fight,  like  Pultowa,  or  Liitzen 
(Which  Gustavus  the  Great  ended  all  his  disputes  in). 
Or  that  which  Suwarrow  engaged  without  boots  in, 
Or  Dettiugen,  Foritenoy,  Blenheim,  or  Minden, 
Or  the  one  Mr.  Campbell  describes,  Hohenlinden, 

Where  "  the  sun  was  low,"     The  ground  all  over  snow,  • 
And  dark  as  mid-winter  the  swift  Iser's  flow, — 
Till  its  color  was  altered  by  General  Moreau : 
While  the  big  drum  was  heard  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
Which  rattled  the  Bard  out  of  bed  in  a  fright, 
And  he  ran  up  the  steeple  to  look  at  the  fight. 

'Twas   in  just   such  another  one     (Names  only  bother 
one — 
Dutch  ones  indeed  are  sufficient  to  smother  one), — 
In  the  Netherlands  somewhere — I  cannot  say  where — 

Suffice  it  that  there     La  Fortune  de  guerre 
Gave  a  cast  of  her  calling  to  our  Mousquetaire. 
One  fine  morning,  in  short,  Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste, 
After  making  some  scores  of  his  foes  "  bite  the  dust," 
Got  a  mouthful  himself  of  the  very  same  crust ; 
And  though,  as  the  Bard  says,  "  No  law  is  more  just 
Than  for  Necis  artifices," — so  they  called  fiery 
Soldados  at  Rome, — "  arte  sua  perire," 

Yet  Fate  did  not  draw     This  poetical  law 
To  its  fullest  extent  in  the  case  of  St.  Foix. 
His  Good  Genius  most  probably  found  out  some  flaw, 

And  diverted  the  shot     From  some  deadlier  spot 
To  a  bone  which,  I  think,  to  the  best  of  my  memory,  's 
Called  by  Professional  men  the  "  os  femoris ;" 


262  THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

And  the  ball  being  one  of  those  named  from  its  shape, 
And  some  fancied  resemblance  it  bears  to  the  grape, 

St.  Foix  went  down,     With  a  groan  and  a  frown, 
And  a  hole  in  his  small-clothes  the  size  of  a  crown. — 

— Staggered  a  bit    By  this  "  palpable  hit," 
He  turned  on  his  face,  and  went  off  in  a  fit. 

Yes !  a  Battle's  a  very  fine  thing  while  you're  fighting, 
These  same  Ups  and  Downs  are  so  very  exciting. 

But  a  sombre  sight  is  a  Battle-field 

To  the  sad  survivor's  sorrowing  eye, 
Where  those,  who  scorned  to  fly  or  yield. 
In  one  promiscuous  carnage  lie ;    ' 

When  the  cannon's  roar    Is  heard  no  more. 
And  the  thick  dun  smoke  has  rolled  away. 
And  the  victor  comes  for  a  last  survey 
Of  the  well-fought  field  of  yesterday ! 

No  triumphs  flush  that  haughty  brow, — 
No  proud  exulting  look  is  there, — 

His  eagle  glance  is  humbled  now. 
As,  earthward  bent,  in  anxious  care 

It  seeks  the  form  whose  stalwart  pride 

But  yester-morn  was  by  its  side ! 

And  there  it  lies ! — on  yonder  bank 

Of  corses,  which  themselves  had  breath 

But  yester-morn — now  cold  and  dank 
With  other  dews  than  those  of  death ! 

Powerless  as  it  had  ne'er  been  born 

The  hand  that  clasped  his — yester-morn ! 

And  there  are  widows  wand'ring  there. 
That  roam  the  blood-besprinkled  plain. 

And  listen  in  their  dumb  despair 

For  sounds  they  ne'er  may  hear  again ! 

One  word,  however  faint  and  low, — 

Ay,  e'en  a  groan, — were  music  now ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  FRANCE.  2G3 

And  this  is  Glory  ! — Fame ! — 

But,  pshaw ! 

Miss  Muse,  you're  growing  sentimental ; 
Besides,  such  things  we  never  saw ; 

In  fact  they're  merely  Continental. 
And  then  your  Ladyship  forgets 
Some  widows  came  for  epaulettes. 


So  go  back  to  your  canter ;  for  one,  I  declare, 

Is  now  fumbling  about  our  capsized  Mousquetaire, 

A  beetle-browed  hag,     With  a  knife  and  a  bag. 
And  an  old  tattered  bonnet  which,  thrown  back,  discloses 
The  ginger  complexion,  and  one  of  those  noses 
Peculiar  to  females  named  Levy  and  Moses, 
Such  as  nervous  folks  still,  when  they  come  in  their  way, 

shun. 
Old  vixen-faced  tramps  of  the  Hebrew  persuasion. 

You  remember,  I  trust,     Franyois  Xavier  Auguste 
Had  uncommon  fine  limbs,  and  a  very  fine  bust. 
Now  there's  something — I  cannot  tell  what  it  may  be — 
About  good-looking  gentlemen  turned  twenty-three, 
Above  all  when  laid  up  with  a  wound  in  the  knee, 
Which  aflTects  female  hearts  in  no  common  degree. 
With  emotions  in  which  many  feelings  combine, 
Very  easy  to  fancy,  though  hard  to  define ; 

Ugly  or  pretty.     Stupid  or  witty, 
Young  or  old,  they  experience,  in  country  or  city. 
What's  clearly  not  Love — yet  it's  warmer  than  Pity — 
And  some  such  a  feeling,  no  doubt,  'tis  that  stays 
The  hand  you  may  see  that  old  Jezebel  raise. 

Armed  with  the  blade    So  oft  used  in  her  trade, 
The  horrible  calling  e'en  now  she  is  plying. 
Despoiling  the  dead,  and  despatching  the  dying ! 
For  these  "  nimble  Conveyancers,"  after  such  battles, 
Regarding  as  treasure  trove  all  goods  and  chattels. 
Think  nought,  in  "perusing  and  settling"  the  titles. 
So  safe  as  six  inches  of  steel  in  the  vitals. 


264  THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

Now  don't  make  a  joke  of    That  feeling  I  spoke  of; 
For,  as  sure  as  you're  born,  that  same  feeling, — whate'er 
It  may  be, — saves  the  life  of  the  young  Mousquetaire ! — 
The  knife,  that  was  levelled  erewhile  at  his  throat, 
Is  employed  now  in  ripping  the  lace  from  his  coat. 
And  from  what,  I  suppose,  I  must  call  his  culoUe; 

And  his  pockets,  no  doubt,     Being  turned  inside  out, 
That  his  mouchoir  and  gloves  may  be  put  "  up  the  spout" 
(For  of  coin,  you  may  well  conceive,  all  she  can  do 
Fails  to  ferret  out  even  a  single  ecu) ; 
As  a  muscular  Giant  would  handle  an  elf, 
The  virago  at  last  lifts  the  soldier  himself. 
And,  like  a  She-Samson,  at  length  lays  him  down 
In  a  hospital  formed  in  the  neighboring  town ! 

I  am  not  very  sure.     But  I  think  'twas  Namur ;  ' 
And  there  she  now  leaves  him,  expecting  a  cure. 


CANTO   II. 

I  ABOMINATE  physic — I  caro  not  who  knows 

That  there's  nothing  on  earth  I  detest  like  "  a  dose," — 

That  yellowish-green-looking  fluid,  whose  hue 

I  consider  extremely  unpleasant  to  view, 

With  its  sickly  appearance,  that  trenches  so  near 

On  what  Homer  defines  the  complexion  of  Fear ; 

XXopov  deog,  I  mean,     A  nasty  pale  green. 
Though  for  want  of  some  word  that  may  better  avail, 
I  presume,  our  translators  have  rendered  it  "  pale ;" 

For  consider  the  cheeks     Of  those  "  well-booted  Greeks,'* 
Their  Egyptian  descent  was  a  question  of  weeks ; 
Their  complexion,  of  course,  like  a  half-decayed  leek's ; 
And  you'll  see  in  an  instant  the  thing  that  I  mean  in  it, 
A  Greek  face  in  a  funk  had  a  good  deal  of  green  in  it. 


I  repeat,  I  abominate  physic ;  but  then, 

If  folks  will  go  campaigning  about  with  such  men 

As  the  Great  Prince  de  Conde  and  Marshal  Turenne, 

They  may  fairly  expect    To  be  now  and  then  checked. 


A  LEGEND    OF  FRANCE.  265 

By  a  'bullet,  or  sabre-cut.     Then  their  best  solace  is 
Found,  I  admit,  in  green  potions  and  boluses ; 

So,  of  course,  I  don't  blame    St.  Foix,  wounded  and 
lame. 
If  he  swallowed  a  decent  quant,  suff.  of  the  same ; 
Though  I'm  told,  in  such  cases  it's  not  the  French  plan 
To  pour  in  their  drastics  as  fast  as  they  can, 
The  practice  of  many  an  English  savan, 

But  to  let  off  a  man     With  a  little  ptuanne. 
And  gently  to  chafe  the  patella  (knee-pan). 


" Oh,  woman!"  Sir  Walter  observes,  "when  the  brow 
's  wrung  with  pain,  what  a  minist'ring  Angel  art  thou !" 
Thou'rt  a  "  minist'ring  Angel "  in  no  less  degree, 
I  can  boldly  assert,  when  the  pain's  in  the  knee : 

And  medical  friction     Is,  past  contradiction. 
Much  better  performed  by  a  She  than  a  He. 
A  fact  which,  indeed,  comes  within  my  own  knowledge, 
For  I  well  recollect,  when  a  youngster  at  College, 

And,  therefore,  can  quote     A  surgeon  of  note, 
Mr.  Grosvenor  of  Oxford,  who  not  only  wrote 
On  the  subject  a  very  fine  treatise,  but,  still  as  his 
Patients  came  in,  certain  soft-handed  Phyllises 
Were  at  once  set  to  work  on  their  legs,  arms,  and  backs, 
And  rubbed  out  their  complaints  in  a  couple  of  cracks. — 

Now,  they  say,     To  this  day. 

When  sick  people  can't  pay 
On  the  Continent,  many  of  this  kind  of  nurses 
Attend,  without  any  demand  on  their  purses ; 
And  these  females,  some  old,  others  still  in  their  teens, 
Some  call  "  Sisters  of  Charity,"  others  "  Beguines." 
They  don't  take  the  vows ;  but,  half  Nun  and  half  Lay, 
Attend  you ;  and  when  you've  got  better,  they  say, 
"  You're  exceedingly  welcome !     There's  nothing  to  pay. 

Our  task  is  now  done ;     You  are  able  to  run. 
We  never  take  money ;  we  cure  you  for  fun !" 
Then  they  drop  you  a  court'sy,  and  wish  you  good  day, 
And  go  off  to  cure  somebody  else  the  same  way. 


266  THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

— A  great  many  of  these,  at  the  date  of  my  tale, 
In  Namur  walk'd  the  hospitals,  workhouse,  and  jail. 

Among  them  was  one,     A  most  sweet  Demi-nun, 
Her  cheek  pensive  and  pale ;  tresses  bright  as  the  Sun, — 
Not  carroty — no ;  though  you'd  fancy  you  saw  burn 
Such  locks  as  the  Greeks  loved,  which  moderns  call  auburn. 
These  were  partially  seen  through  the  veil  which  they  wore  all. 
Her  teeth  were  of  pearl,  and  her  lips  were  of  coral ; 
Her  eye-lashes  silken ;  her  eyes,  fine  large  blue  ones, 
Were  sapphires  (I  don't  call  these  similes  new  ones ; 
But,  in  metaphors,  freely  confess  I've  a  leaning 
To  such,  new  or  old,  as  convey  best  one's  meaning). — 
Then,  for  figure !     In  faith  it  was  downright  barbarity 

To  mufile  a  form    Might  an  anchoret  warm 
In  the  fusty  stuflT  gown  of  a  So&ur  de  la  Charite ; 
And  no  poet  could  fancy,  no  painter  could  draw, 
One  more  perfect  in  all  points,  more  free  from  a  flaw, 
Than  hers  who  now  sits  by  the  couch  of  St.  Foix, 

Chafing  there.     With  such  care. 

And  so  dove-like  an  air. 
His  leg,  till  her  delicate  fingers  are  charred 
With  the  Steer's  opodeldoc,  joint-oil,  and  goulard ; 
— Their  Dutch  appellations  are  really  too  hard 
To  be  brought  into  verse  by  a  transmarine  Bard. — 

Now  you'll  see,     And  agree, 

I  am  certain,  with  me. 
When  a  young  man's  laid  up  with  a  wound  in  his  knee, 

And  a  Lady  sits  there.     On  a  rush-bottomed  chair, 
To  hand  him  the  mixtures  his  doctors  prepare. 
And  a  bit  of  lump-sugar  to  make  matters  square ; 
Above  all,  when  the  Lady's  remarkably  fair, 
And  the  wounded  young  man  is  a  gay  Mousquetaire, 
It's  a  ticklish  affair,  you  may  swear,  for  the  pair. 
And  may  lead  on  to  mischief  before  they're  aware. 

I  really  don't  think,  spite  of  what  friends  would  call  his 
" Penchant  for  liaisons"  and  graver  men  " follies " 


A   LEGEND    OF  FRANCE.  267 

(For  my  own  part,  I  think  planting  thorns  on  their  pillows, 

And  leaving  poor  maidens  to  weep  and  wear  willows, 

Is  not  to  be  classed  among  mere  peccadilloes), 

His  "faults,"  I  should  say — I  don't  think  Fraugois  Xavier 

Entertained  any  thoughts  of  improper  behavior 

Tow'rds  his  nurse,  or  that  once  to  induce  her  to  sin  he  meant 

While  superintending  his  draughts  and  his  liniment : 

But,  as  he  grew  stout,     And  was  getting  about. 
Thoughts  came  into  his  head  that  had  better  been  out ; 

While  Cupid's  an  urchin    We  know  deserves  birching, 
'  He's  so  prone  to  delude  folks,  and  leave  them  the  lurch  in. 

'Twas  doubtless  his  doing    That  absolute  ruin 
Was  the  end  of  all  poor  dear  Therese's  shampooing. — 
'Tis  a  subject  I  don't  like  to  dwell  on ;  but  such 
Things  will  happen — ay,  e'en  'mongst  the  phlegmatic  Dutch. 

"  When  Woman,"  as  Goldsmith  declares,  "  stoops  to  folly, 
And  finds  out  too  late  that  false  man  can  betray," 

She  is  apt  to  look  dismal,  and  grow  "  melancholy," 
And,  in  short,  to  be  anything  rather  than  gay. 

He  goes  on  to  remark  that  "  to  punish  her  lover, 
Wring  his  bosom,  and  draw  the  tear  into  his  eye, 

There  is  but  one  method"  which  he  can  discover 
That's  likely  to  answer — that  one  is  "  to  die  I" 

He's  wrong — the  wan  and  withering  cheek ; 

The  thin  lips,  pale,  and  drawn  apart ; 
The  dim  yet  tearless  eyes,  that  speak 

The  misery  of  the  breaking  heart ; 

The  wasted  form,  th'  enfeebled  tone 

That  whispering  mocks  the  pitying  ear ; 

Th'  imploring  glances  heavenward  thrown. 
As  heedless,  helpless,  hopeless  here ; 

These  wring  the  false  one's  heart  enough. 
If  "  made  of  penetrable  stuff." 

And  poor  Therese    Thus  pines  and  decays. 
Till,  stung  with  remorse,  St.  Foix  takes  a  post-chaise 


268  THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

With,  for  "  wheelers,"  two  bays.     And,  for  "  leaders,"  two 
grays. 
And  soon  reaches  France,  by  the  help  of  relays. 
Flying  shabbily  off  from  the  sight  of  his  victim, 
And  driving  as  fast  as  if  Old  Nick  had  kicked  him. 

She,  poor  sinner,     Grows  thinner  and  thinner, 
Leaves  off  eating  breakfast,  and  luncheon,  and  dinner, 
Till  you'd  really  suppose  she  could  have  nothing  in  her. — 
One  evening — 'twas  just  as  the  clock  struck  eleven — 
They  saw  she'd  been  sinking  fast  ever  since  seven, — 
She  breathed  one  deep  sigh,  threw  one  look  up  to  Heaven, 

And  all  was  o'er ! —    Poor  Therese  was  no  more — 
She  was  gone ! — the  last  breath  that  she  managed  to  draw 
Escaped  in  one  half-uttered  word — 'twas  "  St.  Foix !" 


Who  can  fly  from  himself?     Bitter  cares,  when  you  feel  'em, 

Are  not  cured  by  travel — as  Horace  says,  "  Coelum 

Non  animum  mutant  qui  currunt  trans  mare  /" 

It's  climate,  not  mind,  that  by  roaming  men  vary — 

Remorse  for  temptation  to  which  you  have  yielded  is 

A  shadow  you  can't  sell  as  Peter  Schlemil  did  his  ; 

It  haunts  you  for  ever — in  bed  and  at  board, — 

Ay,  e'en  in  your  dreams.     And  you  can't  find,  it  seems, 
Any  proof  that  a  guilty  man  ever  yet  snored  ! 
It  is  much  if  he  slumbers  at  all,  which  but  few, 
— Franyois  Xavier  Auguste  was  an  instance, — can  do. 

Indeed,  from  the  time     He  committed  the  crime 
Which  cut  off  poor  Sister  Therese  in  her  prime. 
He  was  not  the  same  man  that  he  had  been — his  plan 
Was  quite  changed — in  wild  freaks  he  no  more  led  the  van  ; 

He'd  scarce  sleep  a  wink  in     A  week ;  but  sit  thinking, 

From  company  shrinking —     He  quite  gave  up  drinking. 
At  the  mess-table,  too,  where  now  seldom  he  came, 
Y'lsh,  fricassee,  fricandeau,  potage,  or  game, 
Dindon  aux  truffes,  or  turhot  a  la  crhne, 
No ! — he  still  shook  his  head, — it  was  always  the  same, 
Still  he  never  complained  that  the  cook  was  to  blame  I 


A    LEGEND    OF  FRANCE.  269 

'Twas  his  appetite  failed  him — no  matter  how  rare 
And  recherche  the  dish,  how  delicious  the  fare, — 
What  he  used  to  like  best  he  no  longer  could  bear ; 

But  he'd  there  sit  and  stare     With  an  air  of  despair ; 

Took  no  care,  but  would  wear    Boots  that  wanted  repair ; 
Such  a  shirt  too !  you'd  think  he'd  no  linen  to  spare. 
He  omitted  to  shave ;  he  neglected  his  hair, 
And  looked  more  like  a  Guy  than  a  gay  Mousquetaire. 

One  thing,  above  all,  most  excited  remark ; 
In  the  evening  he  seldom  sat  long  after  dark. 
Not  that  then,  as  of  yore,  he'd  go  out  for  a  "  lark" 

With  his  friends  ;  but  when  they.     After  taking  cafe, 
Would  have  broiled  bones  and  kidneys  brought  in  on  a  tray, 
— Which  I  own  I  consider  a  very  good  way, 
If  a  man's  not  dyspeptic,  to  wind  up  the  day, — 
No  persuasion  on  earth  could  induce  him  to  stay ; 
But  he'd  take  up  his  candlestick,  just  nod  his  head, 
By  way  of  "  Good  evening !"  and  walk  off  to  bed. 
Yet  even  when  there  he  seem'd  no  better  off. 
For  he'd  wheeze,  and  he'd  sneeze,  and  he'd  hem,  and  he'd 
cough. 

And  they'd  hear  him  all  night,     Sometimes  sobbing  out- 
right, 
While  his  valet,  who  often  endeavored  to  peep. 
Declared  that  "  his  master  was  never  asleep ! 
But  would  sigh,  and  would  groan,  slap  his  forehead,  and  weep ; 

That  about  ten  o'clock     His  door  he  would  lock, 
And  then  never  would  open  it,  let  who  would  knock ! — 

He  had  heard  him,"  he  said,    "  Sometimes  jump  out  of  ]^, 
And  talk  as  if  speaking  to  one  who  was  dead ! 

He'd  groan,  and  he'd  moan,     In  so  piteous  a  tone. 
Begging  some  one  or  other  to  let  him  alone, 
That  it  really  would  soften  the  heart  of  a  stone 
To  hear  him  exclaim  so,  and  call  upon  Heaven; 
Then,  the  bother  began  always  just  at  eleven  /" 

Frangois  Xavier  Auguste,  as  I've  told  you  before, 
I  believe,  was  a  popular  man  in  his  corpSy 


^70  THE  BLACK  M0U8QUETAIRE. 

And  his  comrades,  not  one     Of  whom  knew  of  the  Nun, 
Now  began  to  consult  what  was  best  to  be  done. 

Count  Cordon  Bleu     And  the  Sieur  de  la  Roue 
Confessed  they  did  not  know  at  all  what  to  do : 
But  the  Chevalier  Hippolyte  Hector  Achille 
Alphonse  Stanislaus  Emile  de  Grandville 

Made  a  fervent  appeal     To  the  zeal  they  must  feel 
For  their  friend,  so  distinguished  an  officer,  's  weal. 
"  The  first  thing,"  he  said,  "  was  to  find  out  the  matter 
That  bored  their  poor  friend  so,  and  caused  all  this  clatter — 

Mort  de  ma  vie  !"     — Here  he  took  some  rappee — 
"  Be  the  cause  what  it  may,  he  shall  tell  it  to  me !" — 
He  was  right,  sure  enough — in  a  couple  of  days 
He  worms  out  the  whole  story  of  Sister  Therese, 
Now  entomb'd,  poor  dear  soul !  in  some  Dutch  Phre  la  Chaise. 
— "  But  the  worst  thing  of  all,"  Fran9ois  Xavier  declares, 
"  Is,  whenever  I've  taken  my  candle  up  stairs. 
There's  Therese  sitting  there — upon  one  of  those  chairs ! 

Such  a  frown,  too,  she  wears.     And  so  frightfully  glares, 
That  I'm  really  prevented  from  saying  my  pray'rs, 
While  an  odor, — the  very  reverse  of  perfume, — 
More  like  rhubarb  or  senna,  pervades  the  whole  room !" 

Hector  Achille     Stanislaus  Emile, 
"When  he  heard  him  talk  so  felt  an  odd  sort  of  feel ; 
Not  that  he  cared  for  Ghosts — he  was  far  too  genteel — 
Still  a  queerish  sensation  came  on  when  he  saw 

Him  whom,  for  fun.     They'd,  by  way  of  a  pun 
On  his  person  and  principles,  nicknamed  Sa7is  Foi, 

A  man  whom  they  had,  you  see,     Marked  as  a  Sadducee,— 
In  his  horns,  all  at  once,  so  completely  to  draw. 
And  to  talk  of  a  Ghost,  with  such  manifest  awe ! — 
It  excited  the  Chevalier  Grand ville's  surprise; 
He  shrugged  up  his  shoulders,  he  turned  up  his  eyes. 
And  he  thought  with  himself  that  he  could  not  do  less 
Than  lay  the  whole  matter  before  the  whole  Mess. 

Repetition's  detestable ; —    So,  as  you're  best  able, 
Paint  to  yourself  the  effect  at  the  Mess-table — 


A    LEGEND    OF  FRANCE.  271 

How  the  bold  Brigadiers     Pricked  up  their  ears, 
And  received  the  account,  some  with  fears,  some  with  sneers. 

How  the  Sieur  de  la  Roue    Said  to  Count  Cordon  Bleu, 
" Mafoi!  c'est  bien  drole — Monseigneur,  what  say  you?" — 

How  Count  Cordon  Bleu    Declared  he  "  thought  so  too ;" — 
How  the  Colonel  affirmed  that  "  the  case  was  quite  new ;" — 

How  the  Cajitains  and  Majors     Began  to  lay  wagers 
How  far  the  Ghost  part  of  the  story  was  true ; — 
How,'  at  last,  when  asked  "  "What  was  the  best  thing  to  do  ?" 
Everybody  was  silent, — for  nobody  knew ! — 
And  how,  in  the  end,  they  said,  "  No  one  could  deal 
With  the-  matter  so  well,  from  his  prudence  and  zeal, 
As  the  Gentleman  who  was  the  first  to  reveal 
This  strange  story — viz.,  Hippolyte  Hector  Achille 
Alphonse  Stanislaus  Emile  de  Grandville !" 

I  need  scarcely  relate     The  plans,  little  and  great, 
Which  came  into  the  Chevalier  Hippolyte's  pate 
To  rescue  his  friend  from  his  terrible  foes. 
Those  mischievous  Imps,  whom  the  world,  I  suppose 
From  extravagant  notions  respecting  their  hue, 
Has  strangely  agreed  to  denominate  "  Blue," 
Inasmuch  as  his  schemes  were  of  no  more  avail 
Than  those  he  had,  early  in  life,  found  to  fail. 
When  he  strove  to  lay  salt  on  some  little  bird's  tail. 

In  vain  did  he  try     With  strong  waters  to  ply 
His  friend,  on  the  ground  that  he  never  could  spy 
Such  a  thing  as  a  Ghost,  with  a  drop  in  his  eye ; 
St.  Foix  never  would  drink  now  unless  he  was  dry ; 
Besides,  what  the  vulgar  call  "sucking  the  monkey" 
Has  much  less  effect  on  a  man  when  he's  funky. 
In  vain  did  he  strive  to  detain  him  at  table 
Till  his  "  dark  hour  "  was  over — he  never  was  able. 

Save  once,  when  at  Mess,     With  that  sort  of  address 
Which  the  British  call  "Humbug,"  and  Frenchmen  "Finesse" 
(It's  "  Blarney  "  in  Irish — I  don't  know  the  Scotch), 
He  fell  to  admiring  his  friend's  English  watch.* 

*  "Tompion's,  I  presume?"— Farquiiar. 


272  THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

He  examined  the  face,     And  the  back  of  the  case, 
And  the  young  Lady's  portrait  there,  done  on  enamel,  he 
"  Saw  by  the  likeness  was  one  of  the  family ;" 

Cried   "  Superbe ! — Magnifique  /"     (With    his    tongue    in 
his  cheek) — 
Then  he  opened  the  case,  just  to  take  a  peep  in  it,  and 
Seized  the  occasion  to  pop  back  the  minute  hand. 
With  a  demi-con(/e,  and  a  shrug,  and  a  grin,  he 
Returns  the  hijou,  and — c^est  une  affaire  finie — 
"  I've  done  him,"  thinks  he,  "  now,  I'll  wager  a  guinea !" 

It  happened  that  day     They  were  all  very  gay,  . 
'Twas    the   Grand    Monarque's    birthday — that    is,  'twas    St. 

Louis's, 
Which   in  Catholic  countries,  of  course,  they  would  view  as 
his — 
So  when  Hippolyte  saw    Him  about  to  withdraw. 
He  cried,  "  Come — that  won't  do,  my  fine  fellow,  St.  Foix, — 
Give  us  five  minutes  longer,  and  drink  Vive  le  Roi  !" 

Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste,     Without  any  mistrust 
Of  the  trick  that  was  played,  drew  his  watch  from  his  fob, 
Just  glanced  at  the  hour,  then  agreed  to  "  hob-nob," 

Filled  a  bumper,  and  rose    With  "  Messieurs,  I  propose" — 
He  paused — his  blanched  lips  failed  to  utter  the  toast. 
'Twas  eleven  ! — he  thought  it  half-past  ten  at  most — 
Ev'ry  limb,  nerve,  and  muscle  grew  stifi"  as  a  post, — 

His  jaw  droj)ped — his  eyes  Swelled  to  twice  their  own  size — 
And  he  stood  as  a  pointer  would  stand — at  a  Ghost ! 
— Then  shrieked,  as  he  fell  on  the  floor  like  a  stone, 
"Ah!  Sister  Therese!  now — do  let  me  alone!" 

It's  amazing  by  sheer  perseverance  what  men  do, — 

As  water  wears  stone  by  the  "  Scepe  cadendo" 

If  they  stick  to  Lord  Somebody's  motto,  "Agendo  /" 

Was  it  not  Robert  Bruce  ? — I  declare  I've  forgot, 

But  I  think  it  was  Robert — you'll  find  it  in  Scott — 

Who,  when  cursing  Dame  Fortune,  was  taught  by  a  Spider, 

"  She's  sure  to  come  round,  if  you  will  but  abide  her." 


A   LEGEND    OF  FRANCE.  273 

Then   another  great   Rob,      Called   "  White-headed 
Bob," 
Whom  I  once  saw  receive  such  a  thump  on  the  "  nob" 
From  a  fist  which  might  almost  an  elephant  brain, 
That  I  really  believed,  at  the  first,  he  was  slain, 
For  he  lay  like  a  log  on  his  back  on  the  plain, 
Till  a  gentleman  present  accustomed  to  train 
Drew  out  a  small  lancet,  and  opened  a  vein 
Just  below  his  left  eye,  which  relieving  the  pain, 
He  stood  up  like  a  trump,  with  an  air  of  disdain, 

While  his  "backer"  was  fain, —     For   he   could  not 
refrain 
(He  was  dressed  in  pea-green,  with  a  pin  and  gold  chain, 
And  I  think  I  heard  somebody  call  him  "  Squire  Hayne"), — 
To  whisper  ten  words  one  should  always  retain, 
— "  Take  a  suck  at  the  lemon  and  at  him  again  ! ! !" — 
A  hint  ne'er  surpassed,  though  thus  spoken  at  random. 
Since  Teucer's  apostrophe — Nil  desperandum  ! 
Granville  acted  on  it,  and  ordered  his  Tandem. 

He  had  heard  St.  Foix  say,     That  no  very  great  way 
From  Namur  was  a  snug  little  town  called  Grandpre, 
Near  which,  a  few  miles  from  the  banks  of  the  Maese, 
Dwelt  a  pretty  twin-sister  of  poor  dear  Therese, 
Of  the  same  age,  of  course,  the  same  father,  same  mother, 
And  as  like  to  Therese  as  one  pea  to  another ; 

She  lived  with  her  Mamma,     Having  lost  her  Papa, 
Late  of  contraband  schnajjps  an  unlicensed  distiller, 
And  her  name  was  Des  Moulins  (in  English,  Miss  Miller). 

Now,  though  Hippolyte  Hector     Could  hardly  expect  her 
To  feel  much  regard  for  her  sister's  "  protector," 
When  she'd  seen  him  so  shamefully  leave  and  neglect  her ; 

Still,  he  very  well  knew     In  this  world  there  are  fcAV 
But  are  ready  much  Christian  forgiveness  to  show, 
For  other  folk's  wrongs — if  well  paid  so  to  do — 
And  he'd  seen  to  what  acts  "  Res  angustce  "  compel  beaux 
And  belles,  whose  afl!airs  have  once  got  out  at  elbows, 
With  the  magic  effect  of  a  handful  of  crowns 
Upon  people  whose  pockets  boast  nothing  but  "  browns :" 
18 


274  THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

A  few  francs  well  apjilied     He'd  no  doubt  would  decide 
Miss  Agnes  des  Moulins  to  jump  up  and  ride 
As  far  as  head-quarters,  next  day,  by  his  side ; 
For  the  distance  was  nothing,  to  speak  by  comparison, 
To  the  town  where  the  Mousquetaires  now  lay  in  garrison ; 

Then  he  thought,  by  the  aid     Of  a  veil,  and  gown  made 
Like  those  worn  by  the  lady  his  friend  had  betrayed, 
They  might  dress  up  Miss  Agnes  so  like  to  the  Shade, 
Which  he  fancied  he  saw,  of  that  poor  injured  maid. 
Come  each  night,  with  her  pale  face,  his  guilt  to  upbraid, 
That  if  once  introduced  to  his  room,  thus  arrayed, 
And  then  unmasked  as  soon  as  she'd  long  enough  stayed, 
'Twould  be  no  very  difficult  task  to  persuade 
Him  the  whole  was  a  scurvy  trick,  cleverly  played, 
Out  of  spite  and  revenge,  by  a  mischievous  jade ! 

With  respect  to  the  scheme — though  I  do  not  call  that  a  gem — 
Still  I've  known  soldiers  adopt  a  worse  stratagem. 
And  that,  too,  among  the  decided  approvers 
Of  General  Sir  David  Dundas's  "  Manoeuvres." 

There's  a  proverb,  however,     I've  always  thought  clever. 
Which  my  Grandmother  never  was  tired  of  repeating, 
"  The  proof  of  the  Pudding  is  found  in  the  eating !" 
We  shall  see,  in  the  sequel,  how  Hector  Achille 
Had  mixed  up  the  suet  and  plums  for  his  meal. 

The  night  had  set  in ; — 'twas  a  dark  and  a  gloomy  one : — 
Off  went  St.  Foix  to  his  chamber ;  a  roomy  one, 

Five  stories  high.     The  first  floor  from  the  sky. 
And  lofty  enough  to  afford  great  facility 
For  playing  a  game,  with  the  youthful  nobility, 

Of  "  crack  corps,"  a  deal  in     Request,  when  they're 
feeling, 
In  dull  country  quarters,  ennui  on  them  stealing ; 

A  wet  wafer's  applied    To  a  sixpence's  side. 
Then  it's  spun  with  the  thumb  up  to  stick  on  the  ceiling ; 
Intellectual  amusement,  which  custom  allows  old  troops, — 
I've  seen  it  here  practiced  at  home  by  our  Household  troops. 

He'd  a  table,  and  bed.   And  three  chairs ;  and  all's  said. — 


A   LEGEND   OF  FRANCE.  275 

A  bachelor's  barrack,  where'er  you  discern  it,  you're 
Sure  not  to  fiud  overburdeued  with  furniture. 


Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste  locked  and  bolted  his  door 
With  just  the  same  caution  he'd  practiced  before ; 

Little  he  knew     That  the  Count  Cordon  Bleu, 
With  Hector  Achille,  and  the  Sieur  de  la  Roue, 
Had  been  up  there  before  him,  and  drawn  ev'ry  screw  I 

And  now  comes  the  moment — the  watches  and  clocks 

All  point  to  eleven  ! — the  bolts  and  the  locks 

Give  way — and  the  party  turn  out  their  bag-fox ! — 

With  step  noiseless  and  light,     Though  half  in  a  fright, 
A  cup  in  her  left  hand,  a  draught  in  her  right. 
In  her  robe  long  and  black,  and  her  veil  long  and  white, 
Ma'amselle  Agnes  des  Moulins  walks  in  as  a  sprite ! — 

She  approaches  the  bed    With  the  same  silent  tread, 
Just  as  though  she  had  been  at  least  half  a  year  dead ! 
Then  seating  herself  on  the  "  rush-bottomed  chair," 
Throws  a  cold  stony  glance  on  the  Black  Mousquetaire. 

If  you're  one  of  the  "  play-going  public,"  kind  Reader, 
And  not  a  Moravian  or  rigid  Seceder, 

You've  seen  Mr.  Kean,     I  mean  in  that  scene 
Of  Macbeth, — by  some  thought  the  crack  one  of  the  piece, 
Which  has  been  so  well  painted  by  Mr.  Maclise, — 
When  he  wants,  after  having  stood  up  to  say  grace,* 
To  sit  down  to  his  haggis,  and  can't  find  a  place ; 

You  remember  his  stare     At  the  high-backed  arm-chair, 
Where  the  Ghost  sits  that  nobody  else  knows  is  there, 
And  how,  after  saying  "  What  man  dares  I  dare !" 

He  proceeds  to  declare    He  should  not  so  much  care 
If  it  came  in  the  shape  of  a  "  tiger  "  or  "  bear," 
But  he  don't  like  it  shaking  its  long  gory  hair ! 
While  the  obstinate  Ghost,  as  determined  to  brave  him, 

*  "  Now,  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 
And  healtli  on  both."— Mjcie/A. 


276  THE  BLACK  MOUSQUETAIRE. 

With  a  horrible  grin,     Sits  and  cocks  up  his  chin, 
Just  as  though  he  was  asking  the  tyrant  to  shave  him. 

And  Lennox  and  Rosse     Seem  quite  at  a  loss 
If  they  ought  to  go  on  with  their  sheep's  head  and  sauce ; 
And  Lady  Macbeth  looks  uncommonly  cross, 

And  says  in  a  huff,     It's  all  "  Proper  stuff!" — 
All  this  you'll  have  seen,  Reader,  often  enough ; 
So  perhaps  'twill  assist  you  in  forming  some  notion 
Of  what  must  have  been  Francois  Xavier's  emotion 

If  you  fancy  what  troubled     Macbeth  to  be  doubled, 
And,  instead  of  one  Banquo  to  stare  in  his  face 
Without  "  speculation,"  suppose  he'd  a  brace  ! 

I  wish  I'd  poor  Fuseli's  pencil,  who  ne'er  I  bel- 
ieve was  exceeded  in  painting  the  terrible. 

Or  that  of  Sir  Joshua     Reynolds,  who  was  so  a- 
droit  in  depicting  it — vide  his  piece 
Descriptive  of  Cardinal  Beaufort's  decease, 

Where  that  prelate  is  lying.     Decidedly  dying. 

With  the  King  and  his  SMite     Standing  just  at  his  feet, 
And  his  hands,  as  Dame  Quickly  says,  fumbling  the  sheet ; 
While,  close  at  his  ear,  with  the  air  of  a  scorner, 
"  Busy,  meddling  "  Old  Nick's  grinning  up  in  the  corner. 
But  painting's  an  art  I  confess  I  am  raw  in. 
The  fact  is,  I  never  took  lessons  in  drawing ; 

Had  I  done  so,  instead     Of  the  lines  you  have  read, 
I'd  have   giv'n    you   a  sketch  should   have  filled   you  with 

dread ! 
Fran9ois  Xavier  Auguste  squatting  up  in  his  bed. 

His  hands  widely  spread,     His  complexion  like  lead, 
Ev'ry  hair  that  he  has  standing  up  on  his  head. 
As  when,  Agnes  des  Moulins  first  catching  his  view. 
Now  right,  and  now  left,  rapid  glances  he  threw. 
Then  shrieked  with  a  wild  and  unearthly  holloo, 

"ilfow  Dieu!  v'la  deux!    By    the    Pope    there   are 
TWO !  !  !" 

He  fell  back — one  long  aspiration  he  drew. 
In  flew  De  la  Roue,     And  Count  Cordon  Bleu, 


A   LEGEND    OF  FRANCE.  Til 

Pommade,  Pomme-de-terre,  and  the  rest  of  their  crew : 
He  stirred  not, — he  spoke  not, — he  none  of  them  knew ! 
And  Achille  cried,  "  Odzooks !     I  fear  by  his  looks, 
Our  friend,  Frangois  Xavier,  has  popped  off  the  hooks !" 

'Twas  too  true!     Malhexireux! 
It  was  done !  he  had  ended  his  earthly  career, — 
He  had  gone  off  at  once  with  a  flea  in  his  ear : 
— The  Black  Mousquetaire  was  as  dead  as  Small-beer ! 


L  'Envoye. 

A  moral  more  in  point  I  scarce  could  hope 
Than  this,  from  Mr.  x^lexander  Pope : — 

If  ever  chance  should  bring  some  Cornet  gay 

And  pious  Maid, — as  possibly  it  may, — 

From  Knightsbridge  Barracks,  and  the  shades  serene 

Of  Clapham  Rise,  as  far  as  Kensal  Green, — 

O'er  some  pale  marble  when  they  join  their  heads 

To  kiss  the  falling  tears  each  other  sheds. 

Oh !  may  they  pause,  and  think,  in  silent  awe, 

He,  that  he  reads  the  words  "Ci  git  St.  Foix!" 

She,  that  the  tombstone  which  her  eye  surveys 

Bears  this  sad  line, — "Hicjacet  Sceur  Therese!" — 

Then  shall  they  sigh  and  weep,  and  murmuring  say, 

"  Oh !  may  we  never  play  such  tricks  as  they !" — 

And  if  at  such  a  time  some  Bard  there  be, 

Some  sober  Bard,  addicted  much  to  tea 

And  sentimental  song — like  Ingoldsby — 

If  such  there  be,  who  sings  and  sips  so  well, 

Let  him  this  sad,  this  tender  story  tell ! 

Warned  by  the  tale,  the  gentle  pair  shall  boast, 

" I've  'scaped  the  Broken  Heart!"— "And  I  the  Ghost!" 


278  SIR  RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS. 

The  next  in  order  of  these  "  lays  of  many  lands "  refers  to 
a  period  far  earlier  in  point  of  date,  and  has  for  its  scene  the 
banks  of  what  our  Teutonic  friends  are  wont  to  call  their 
"  own  imperial  River."  The  incidents  which  it  records  afford 
sufficient  proof  (and  these  are  days  of  demonstration)  that  a 
propensity  to  flirtation  is  not  confined  to  age  or  country,  and 
that  its  consequences  were  not  less  disastrous  to  the  mail-clad 
Bitter  of  the  Dark  Ages  than  to  the  silken  courtier  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century.  The  whole  narrative  bears  about  it  the 
stamp  of  truth ;  and  from  the  papers  among  which  it  was  dis- 
covered, I  am  inclined  to  think  it  must  have  been  picked  up 
by  Sir  Peregrine  in  the  course  of  one  of  his  valetudinary  visits 
to  "  The  German  Spa." 

Six  l^upctt  tf)e  jFcarless. 

A  LEGEND  OF  GEEMANY. 

SIR  RUPERT  the  Fearless,  a  gallant  young  knight, 
Was  equally  ready  to  tipple  or  fight, 
Crack  a  crown,  or  a  bottle,     Cut  sirloin,  or  throttle ! 
In  brief,  or,  as  Hume  says,  "  to  sum  up  the  tottle," 
Unstained  by  dishonor,  unsullied  by  fear. 
All  his  neighbors  pronounced  him  a  preux  chevalier. 

Despite  these  perfections,  corporeal  and  mental. 
He  had  one  slight  defect,  viz.,  a  rather  lean  rental ; 
Besides,  as  'tis  owned  there  are  spots  in  the  sun, 
So  it  must  be  confessed  that  Sir  Rupert  had  one ; 

Being  rather  unthinking.     He'd  scarce  sleep  a  wink  in 
A  night,  but  addict  himself  sadly  to  drinking, 

And,  what  moralists  say     Is  as  naughty,  to  play, — 
To  Rouge  et  Noir,  Hazard,  Short  "Whist,  Ecarte; 
Till  these,  and  a  few  less  defensible  fancies. 
Brought  the  Knight  to  the  end  of  his  slender  finances. 


A   LEGEND   OF  GERMANY.  279 

When  at  length,  through  his  boozing,     And  tenants  refusing 
Their  rents,  swearing  "  times  were  so  bad  they  were  losing," 

His  steward  said,  "  Oh,  sir,     It's  some  time  ago,  sir. 
Since  aught  through  my  hands  reached  the  baker  or  grocer, 
And  the  tradesmen  in  general  are  grown  great  complainers," 
Sir  Rupert  the  Brave  thus  addressed  his  retainers : 

"  My  friends,  since  the  stock     Of  my  father's  old  hock 
Is  out,  with  the  Kiirchwasser,  Barsac,  Moselle, 
And  we're  fairly  reduced  to  the  pump  and  the  well, 

I  presume  to  suggest.     We  shall  all  find  it  best 
For  each  to  shake  hands  with  his  friends  ere  he  goes, 
Mount  his  horse,  if  he  has  one,  and — follow  his  nose ; 

As  to  me,  I  opine.     Left  sans  money  or  wine, 
My  best  way  is  to  throw  myself  into  the  Rhine, 
Where  pitying  trav'llers  may  sigh,  as  they  cross  over, 
*  Though  he  lived  a  roue,  yet  he  died  a  philosopher.' " 

The  Knight,  having  bowed  out  his  friends  thus  politely, 
Got  into  his  skiflT,  the  full  moon  shining  brightly, 

By  the  light  of  whose  beam     He  soon  spied  on  the  stream 
A  dame,  whose  complexion  was  fair  as  new  cream  ; 

Pretty  pink  silken  hose    Cover'd  ankles  and  toes, 
In  other  respects  she  was  scanty  of  clothes ; 
For,  so  says  tradition,  both  written  and  oral, 
Her  one  garment  was  looped  up  with  bunches  of  coral. 

Full  sweetly  she  sang  to  a  sparkling  guitar, 
With  silver  chords  stretched  over  Derbyshire  spar. 

And  she  smiled  on  the  Knight,    Who,  amazed  at  the  sight. 
Soon  found  his  astonishment  merged  in  delight ; 

But  the  stream  by  degrees    Now  rose  up  to  her  knees. 
Till  at  length  it  invaded  her  very  chemise. 
While  the  heavenly  strain,  as  the  wave  seemed  to  swallow  her, 
And  slowly  she  sank,  sounded  fainter  and  hollower. 
— Jumping  up  in  his  boat.     And  discarding  his  coat, 
"  Here  goes,"  cried  Sir  Rupert,  "  by  jingo,  I'll  follow  her !" 
Then  into  the  water  he  plunged  with  a  souse 
That  was  heard  quite  distinctly  by  those  in  the  house. 


280  SIR   RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS. 

Down,  down,  forty  fathom  and  more  from  the  brink, 
Sir  Rupert  the  Fearless  continues  to  sink, 

And,  as  downward  he  goes,     Still  the  cold  water  flows 
Through  his  ears,  and  his  eyes,  and  his  mouth,  and  his  nose. 
Till  the  rum  and  the  brandy  he'd  swallowed  since  lunch 
Wanted  nothing  but  lemon  to  fill  him  with  punch ; 
Some  minutes  elapsed  since  he  entered  the  flood. 
Ere  his  heels  touched  the  bottom,  and  stuck  in  the  mud. 

But  oh !  what  a  sight    Met  the  eyes  of  the  Knight, 
When  he  stood  in  the  depth  of  the  stream  bolt  upright ! — 

A  grand  stalactite  hall.     Like  the  cave  of  Fingal, 
Rose  above  and  about  him ; — great  fishes  and  small 
Came  thronging  around  him,  regardless  of  danger, 
And  seemed  all  agog  for  a  peep  at  the  stranger. 

Their  figures  and  forms  to  describe  language  fails — 
They'd  such  very  odd  heads,  and  such  very  odd  tails ; 
Of  their  genus  or  species  a  sample  to  gain. 
You  Avould  ransack  all  Hungerford  market  in  vain  ; 

E'en  the  famed  Mr.  Myers     Would  scarcely  find  buyers, 
Though  hundreds  of  passengers  doubtless  would  stop 
To  stare,  were  such  monsters  exposed  in  his  shop. 

But  little  recked  Rupert  these  queer-looking  brutes, 

Or  the  efts  and  the  newts     That  crawled  up  his  boots. 
For  a  sight,  beyond  any  of  which  I've  made  mention, 
In  a  moment  completely  absorbed  his  attention. 
A  huge  crystal  bath,  which,  with  water  far  clearer 
Than  George  Robins'  filters,  or  Thorpe's  (which  are  dearer). 

Have  ever  distilled.     To  the  summit  was  filled, 
Lay  stretched  out  before  him, — and  every  nerve  thrilled 

As  scores  of  young  women     Were  diving  and  swimming. 
Till  the  vision  a  perfect  quandary  put  him  in ; — 
All  slightly  accoutred  in  gauzes  and  lawns, 
They  came  floating  about  him  like  so  many  prawns. 

Sir  Rupert,  who  (barring  the  few  peccadilloes 
Alluded  to)  ere  he  leapt  into  the  billows 


A   LEGENH    OF  GERMANY.  281 

Possessed  irreproachable  morals,  began 

To  feel  rather  queer,  as  a  modest  young  man ; 

"When  forth  stepped  a  dame,  whom  he  recognized  soon 

As  the  one  he  had  seen  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 

And  lisped,  while  a  soft  smile  attended  each  sentence, 

"  Sir  Rupert,  I'm  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance ; 

My  name  is  Lurline,     And  the  ladies  you've  seen 
All  do  me  the  honor  to  call  me  their  Queen ; 
I'm  delighted  to  see  you,  sir,  down  in  the  Rhine  here, 
And  hot)e  you  can  make  it  convenient  to  dine  here." 

The  Knight  blushed  and  bowed     As  he  ogled  the  crowd 
Of  subaqueous  beauties,  then  answered  aloud : 
"  Ma'am,  you  do  me  much  honor, — I  cannot  express 
The  delight  I  shall  feel — if  you'll  pardon  my  dress. — 
May  I  venture  to  say,  when  a  gentleman  jumps 
In  the  river  at  midnight  for  want  of  '  the  dumps,' 
He  rarely  puts  on  his  knee-breeches  and  pumps ; 
If  I  could  but  have  guessed — what  I  sensibly  feel — 
Your  politeness,  I'd  not  have  come  en  deshabille, 
But  have  put  on  my  silk  tights  in  lieu  of  my  steel." 
Quoth  the  lady,  "  Dear  sir,  no  apologies,  pray. 
You  will  take  our  '  pot-luck '  in  the  family  way ; 

We  can  give  you  a  dish     Of  some  decentish  fish, 
And  our  water's  thought  fairish ;  but  here  in  the  Rhine 
I  can't  say  we  pique  ourselves  much  on  our  wine." 

The  Knight  made  a  bow  more  profound  than  before, 
When  a  Dory-faced  page  oped  the  dining-room  door, 

And  said,  bending  his  knee,     "  Madame,  on  a  servi  I'* 
Rupert  tendered  his  arm,  led  Lurline  to  her  place, 
And  a  fat  little  Merman  stood  up  and  said  grace. 

What  boots  it  to  tell  of  the  viands,  or  how  she 
Apologized  much  for  their  plain  water-souchy, 

Want  of  Harvey's,  and  Crosse's,    And  Burgess's  sauces  ? 
Or  how  Rupert,  on  his  side,  protested,  by  Jove,  he 
Preferred  his  fish  plain,  without  soy  or  anchovy. 


282  SIR  RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS. 

Suffice  it  the  meal     Boasted  trout,  perch,  and  eel, 
Besides  some  remarkably  fine  salmon  peel. 
The  Knight,  sooth  to  say,  thought  much  less  of  the  fishes 
Than  of  what  they  were  served  on,  the  massive  gold  dishes ; 
While  his  eye,  as  it  glanced  now  and  then  on  the  girls, 
Was  caught  by  their  persons  much  less  than  their  pearls, 
And  a  thought  came  across  him  and  caused  him  to  muse, 

"  If  I  could  but  get  hold     Of  some  of  that  gold, 
I  might  manage  to  pay  ofi"  my  rascally  Jews !" 

When  dinner  was  done,  at  a  sign  to  the  lasses. 

The  table  was  cleared,  and  they  put  on  fresh  glasses ; 

Then  the  lady  addrest     Her  redoubtable  guest 
Much  as  Dido,  of  old,  did  the  pious  jEneas, 
"  Dear  sir,  what  induced  you  to  come  down  and  see  us  ?" — 
Rupert  gave  her  a  glance  most  bewitchingly  tender. 
Lolled  back  in  his  chair,  put  his  toes  on  the  fender. 

And  told  her  outright.     How  that  he,  a  young  Knight, 
Had  never  been  last  at  a  feast  or  a  fight ; 

But  that  keeping  good  cheer.     Every  day  in  the  year, 
And  drinking  neat  wines  all  the  same  as  small-beer, 

Had  exhausted  his  rent.     And,  his  money  all  spent. 
How  he  borrowed  large  sums  at  two  hundred  per  cent. ; 

How  they  followed — and  then,      The  once  civillest  of 
men, 
Messrs.  Howard  and  Gibbs,  made  him  bitterly  rue  it  he 
'd  ever  raised  money  by  way  of  annuity ; 
And,  his  mortgages  being  about  to  foreclose. 
How  he  jumped  in  the  river  to  finish  his  woes ! 

Lurline  was  aflfected,  and  owned,  with  a  tear. 
That  a  story  so  mournful  had  ne'er  met  her  ear ; 

Rupert,  hearing  her  sigh.     Looked  uncommonly  sly, 
And  said,  with  some  emphasis,  "  Ah !  miss,  had  I 

A  few  pounds  of  those  metals     You  waste  here  on  kettles, 

Then,  Lord  once  again     Of  my  spacious  domain, 
A  free  Count  of  the  Empire  once  more  I  might  reign, 

With  Lurline  at  my  side.     My  adorable  bride 
(For  the  parson  should  come,  and  the  knot  should  be  tied)  ; 


A  LEGEND   OF  GERMANY.  283 

No  couple  so  happy  on  earth  should  be  seen 
As  Sir  Rupert  the  Brave  and  his  charming  Lurline ; 
Not  that  money's  my  object — No,  hang  it !  I  scorn  it — 
And  as  for  my  rank — but  that  yoiCd  so  adorn  it — 

I'd  abandon  it  all     To  remain  your  true  thrall, 
And  instead  of  '  the  Qreat,^  be  called  '  Rupert  the  Small;* 
— To  gain  but  your  smiles,  were  I  Sardanapalus, 
I'd  descend  from  my  throne,  and  be  Boots  at  an  alehouse."* 

Lurline  hung  her  head.     Turned  pale,  and  then  red, 
Growing  faint  at  this  sudden  proposal  to  wed, 
As  though  his  abruptness,  in  "  popping  the  question  " 
So  soon  after  dinner,  disturbed  her  digestion. 

Then,  averting  her  eye.     With  a  lover-like  sigh, 
"  You  are  welcome,"  she  murmured  in  tones  most  bewitching, 
"  To  every  utensil  I  have  in  my  kitchen !" 

Up  started  the  Knight,     Half  mad  with  delight. 

Round  her  finely-formed  waist    He  immediately  placed 
One  arm,  which  the  lady  most  closely  embraced, 
Of  her  lily-white  fingers  the  other  made  capture. 
And  he  pressed  his  adored  to  his  bosom  with  rapture. 
"  And,  oh !"  he  exclaimed,  "  let  them  go  catch  my  skiflT,  I 
'11  be  home  in  a  twinkling  and  back  in  a  jiffy. 
Nor  one  moment  procrastinate  longer  my  journey 
Than  to  put  up  the  banns  and  kick  out  the  attorney." 

One  kiss  to  her  lip,  and  one  squeeze  to  her  hand, 
And  Sir  Rupert  already  was  half  way  to  land. 

For  a  sour-visaged  Triton,     With  features  would  frighten 
Old  Nick,  caught  him  up  in  one  hand,  though  no  light 

one. 
Sprang  up  through  the  waves,  popped  him  into  his  funny, 
Wliich  some  others  already  had  half  filled  with  money ; 
In  fact,  'twas  so  heavily  laden  with  ore 
And  pearls,  'twas  a  mercy  he  got  it  to  shore : 

But  Sir  Rupert  was  strong.     And  while  pulling  along. 
Still  he  heard,  faintly  sounding,  the  water-nymphs'  song. 

*  "  Sardanapalus  "  and  "  Boots,"  the  ZenUh  and  Nadir  of  human  society. 


284  SIR  RUPERT  THE  FEARLESS. 


LAY   OF   THE   NAIADS. 

"  Away !  away !  to  the  mountain's  brow, 

Where  the  castle  is  darkly  frowning ; 
And  the  vassals,  all  in  goodly  row. 

Weep  for  their  lord  a-drowning ! 
Away !  away !  to  the  steward's  room, 

Where  law  with  its  wig  and  robe  is ; 
Throw  us  out  John  Doe  and  Richard  Roe, 

And  sweetly  we'll  tickle  their  tobies  I" 

The  unearthly  voices  scarce  had  ceased  their  yelling, 
When  Rupert  reached  his  old  baronial  dwelling. 

What  rejoicing  was  there !     How  the  vassals  did  stare ! 
The  old  housekeeper  put  a  clean  shirt  down  to  air, 

For  she  saw  by  her  lamp     That  her  master's  was  damp, 
And  she  feared  he'd  catch  cold,  and  lumbago  and  cramp ; 

But,  scorning  what  she  did,     The  Knight  never  heeded 
Wet  jacket  or  trousers,  nor  thought  of  repining. 
Since  their  pockets  had  got  such  a  delicate  lining. 

But  oh  !  what  dismay     Filled  the  tribe  of  Ca  Sa, 
When  they  found  he'd  the  cash,  and  intended  to  pay ! 
Away  went  "  cognovits,'"  "  bills,"  "  bonds,"  and  "  escheats," — 
Rupert  cleared  off  all  scores,  and  took  proper  receipts. 

Now  no  more  he  sends  out     For  pots  of  brown  stout. 
Or  schnapps,  but  resolves  to  do  henceforth  without. 
Abjure  from  this  hour  all  excess  and  ebriety. 
Enrol  himself  one  of  a  Temp'rance  Society, 

All  riot  eschew.     Begin  life  anew. 
And  new-cushion  and  hassock  the  family  pew ! 
Nay,  to  strengthen  him  more  in  his  new  mode  of  life, 
He  boldly  determines  to  take  him  a  wife. 

Now,  many  would   think   that   the   Knight,  from   a  nice 

sense 
Of  honor,  should  put  Lurline's  name  in  the  license, 


A   LEGEXD    OF  GERMANY.  285 

And  that,  for  a  man  of  his  breeding  and  quality, 

To  break  faith  and  troth.     Confirmed  by  an  oath, 
Is  not  quite  consistent  with  rigid  morality  ; 
But  whether  the  nymph  was  forgot,  or  he  thought  her 
From  her  essence  scarce  Avife,  but  at  best  wife-and-water, 
And  declined,  as  unsuited,     A  bride  so  diluted — 
Be  this  as  it  may,     He,  I'm  sorry  to  say 
(For,  all  things  considered,  I  own  'twas  a  rum  thing). 
Made  proposals  inr'form  to  Miss  Una  Von — something 
(Her  name  has  escaped  me),  sole  heiress  and  niece 
To  a  highly  respectable  Justice  of  Peace. 

"  Thrice  happy's  the  wooing     That's  not  long  a-doing !" 
So  much  time  is  saved  in  the  billing  and  cooing — 
The  ring  is  now  bought,  the  white  favors,  and  gloves, 
And  all  the  et  cetera  which  crown  people's  loves ; 
A  magnificent  bride-cake  comes  home  from  the  baker. 
And  lastly  appears,  from  the  German  Long  Acre, 
That  shaft  which  the  sharpest  in  all  Cupid's  quiver  is, 
A  plum-colored  coach,  and  rich  Pompadour  liveries. 

'Twas  a  comely  sight     To  behold  the  Knight, 
With  his  beautiful  bride  dressed  all  in  white. 
And  the  bridesmaids  fair  with  their  long  lace  veils. 
As  they  all  walked  up  to  the  altar  rails. 
While  nice  little  boys,  the  incense  dispensers. 
Marched    in    front    with    white    surplices,    bands,    and    gilt 
censers. 

With  a  gracious  air,  and  a  smiling  look,  ^ 

Mess  John  had  opened  his  awful  book. 

And  had  read  so  far  as  to  ask  if  to  wed  he  meant, 

And  if  "  he  knew  any  just  cause  of  impediment," 

When  from  base  to  turret  the  castle  shook ! ! ! 

Then  came  a  sound  of  a  mighty  rain 

Dashing  against  each  storied  pane. 

The  wind  blew  loud.     And  a  coal-black  cloud 
O'ershadowed  the  church,  and  the  party,  and  crowd ; 
How  it  could  happen  they  could  not  divine. 
The  morning  had  been  so  remarkably  fine ! 


286  SIR  RUPERT  TUE  FEARLESS. 

Still  the  darkness  increased,  till  it  reached  such  a  pass 

That  the  sextoness  hastened  to  turn  on  the  gas ; 

But  harder  it  poured,     And  the  thunder  roared 

As  if  heaven  and  earth  were  coming  together : 

None  ever  had  witnessed  such  terrible  weather. 

Now  louder  it  crashed,     And  the  lightning  flashed, 
Exciting  the  fears     Of  the^weet  little  dears 

In  the  veils,  as  it  danced  on  the  brass  chandeliers ; 

The  parson  ran  off,  though  a  stout-hearted  Saxon, 

When  he  found  that  a  flash  had  set  fire  to  his  caxon. 

Though  all  the  rest  trembled,  as  might  be  expected, 
Sir  Rupert  was  perfectly  cool  and  collected, 

And  endeavored  to  cheer    His  bride,  in  her  ear 
Whisp'ring  tenderly,  "  Pray  don't  be  frightened,  my  dear ; 
Should  it  even  set  fire  to  the  castle,  and  burn  it,  you're 
Amply  insured  both  for  buildings  and  furniture." 

But  now,  from  without,     A  trustworthy  scout 

Rushed  hurriedly  in.     Wet  through  to  the  skin, 
Informing  his  master  "  the  river  was  rising, 
And  flooding  the  grounds  in  a  way  quite  surprising." 

He'd  no  time  to  say  more.     For  already  the  roar 
Of  the  waters  was  heard  as  they  reached  the  church-door. 
While,  high  on  the  first  wave  that  rolled  in,  was  seen. 
Riding  proudly,  the  form  of  the  angry  Lurline ; 
And  all  might  observe,  by  her  glance  fierce  and  stormy. 
She  was  stung  by  the  spretce  injuria  formce. 

What  she  said  to  the  Knight,  what  she  said  to  the  bride, 
What  she  said  to  the  ladies  who  stood  by  her  side, 
What  she  said  to  the  nice  little  boys  in  white  clothes, 
Oh,  nobody  mentions, — for  nobody  knows ; 
For  the  roof  tumbled  in,  and  the  walls  tumbled  out. 
And  the  folks  tumbled  down,  all  confusion  and  rout ; 

The    rain    kept    on    pouring,      The    flood    kept    on 
roaring. 
The  billows  and  water-nymphs  rolled  more  and  more  in ; 

Ere    the    close    of   the    day     All    was    clean    washed 
away —  - 


A   LEGEND   OF  GERMANY.  287 

One  only  survived  who  could  hand  down  the  news, 
A  little  old  woman  that  opened  the  pews ; 

She  was    borne    off,   but    stuck.     By  the  greatest  good 
luck, 
In  an  oak-tree,  and  there  she  hung,  crying  and  screaming, 
And  saw  all  the  rest  swallowed  up  the  wild  stream  in. 

In  vain,  all  the  week,     Did  the  fishermen  seek 
For  the  bodies,  and  poke  in  each  cranny  and  creek ; 

In  vain  was  their  search     After  aught  in  the  church, 
They  caught  nothing  but  weeds,  and  perhaps  a  few  perch ; 

The  Humane  Society     Tried  a  variety 
Of  methods,  and  brought  down,  to  drag  for  the  wreck,  tackles, 
But  they  only  fished  up  the  clerk's  tortoise-shell  spectacles. 


MORAL. 

This  tale  has  a  moral.     Ye  youths,  oh,  beware 

Of  liquor,  and  how  you  run  after  the  fair ! 

Shun  playing  at  shorts — avoid  quarrels  and  jars — 

And  don't  take  to  smoking  those  nasty  cigars ! 

— Let  no  run  of  bad  luck,  or  despair  for  some  Jewess-eyed 

Damsel,  induce  you  to  contemplate  suicide ! 

Don't  sit  up  much  later  than  ten  or  eleven ! — 

Be  up  in  the  morning  by  half  after  seven ! 

Keep  from  flirting — nor  risk,  warned  by  Rupert's  miscarriage, 

An  action  for  breach  of  a  promise  of  marriage ; — 

Don't  fancy  odd  fishes !     Don't  prig  silver  dishes ! 
And  to  sum  up  the  whole,  in  the  shortest  phrase  I  know, 
Bewake  of  the  Khine,  and  take  care  of  the  Rhino! 


288  THE  MERCHANT   OF  VENICE. 

And  now  for  "  Sunny  Italy," — the  "  Land  of  the  unforgotten 
brave," — the  land  of  blue  skies  and  black-eyed  Signoras.  I 
cannot  discover  from  any  recorded  memoranda  that  "Uncle 
Perry"  was  ever  in  Venice,  even  in  Carnival  time, — that  he 
ever  saw  Garrick  in  Shy  lock  I  do  not  believe,  and  am  satis- 
fied that  he  knew  nothing  of  Shakspeare,  a  circumstance  that 
would  by  no  means  disqualify  him  from  publishing  an  edition 
of  that  Poet's  works.  I  can  only  conclude  that,  in  the  course 
of  his  Continental  wanderings,  Sir  Peregrine  had  either  read, 
or  heard  of,  the  following  history,  especially  as  he  furnishes  us 
with  some  particulars  of  the  eventual  destination  of  his  dramatis 
perso7ice  which  the  Bard  of  Avon  has  omitted.  If  this  solution 
be  not  accepted,  I  can  only  say,  with  Mr.  Puff,  that  probably 
"  two  men  hit  upon  the  same  idea,  and  Shakespeare  made  use 
of  it  first." 

A  LEGEND  OF  ITALY. 

".  .  .  Of  tte  Merchant  of  Venice  there  are  two  4to  editions  in  1600,  one  by  Heyes 
and  the  other  by  Roberts.  The  Duke  of  Devonsliire  and  Lord  Francis  Egerton  liave 
copies  of  the  edition  by  Heyes,  and  they  vary  importantly. 

".  .  .  It  must  be  acknowledged  that  this  is  a  very  easy  and  happy  emendation,  which 
does  not  admit  of  a  moment's  doubt  or  dispute. 

".  .  .  Readers  in  general  are  not  at  all  aware  of  the  nonsense  they  have  in  many 
cases  been  accustomed  to  receive  as  the  genuine  text  of  Shakspeare  !" 

Reasons  for  a  New  Edition  of  Shakspeare' s  Works,  by  J.  Payne  Collier. 


I 


BELIEVE  there  are  few 

But  have  heard  of  a  Jew, 
Named  Shylock,  of  Venice,  as  arrant  a  "screw" 
In  money  transactions  as  ever  you  knew ; 
An  exorbitant  miser,  who  never  yet  lent 
A  ducat  at  less  than  three  hundred  per  cent., 
Insomuch  that  the  veriest  spendthrift  in  Venice, 
Who'd  take  no  more  care  of  his  pounds  than  his  pennies, 
When  pressed  for  a  loan,  at  the  very  first  sight 
Of  his  terms,  would  back  out,  and  take  refuge  in  Flight. 


A   LEGEND    OF  ITALY.  289 

It  i^  not  my  purpose  to  pause  and  inquire 
If  he  might  not,  in  managing  thus  to  retire, 
Jump  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire ; 
Suffice  it,  that  folks  Avould  have  nothing  to  do, 
"Who  could  possibly  help  it,  with  Shylock  the  Jew. 

But,  however  discreetly  one  cuts  and  contrives. 

We've  been  most  of  us  taught,  in  the  course  of  our  lives, 

That  "  Needs  must  when  the  Elderly  Gentleman  drives !" 

In  proof  of  this  rule,     A  thoughtless  young  fool, 
Bassanio,  a  Lord  of  the  Tomnoddy  school, 
Who,  by  showing  at  Operas,  Balls,  I'lays,  and  Court, 
A  "  swelling "  (Payne  Collier  would  read  "  swilling ")  "  port," 
And  inviting  his  friends  to  dine,  breakfast,  and  sup, 
Had   shrunk   his   "weak   means,"   and   was   "stumped"  and 
"  hard  up," 

Took  occasion  to  send     To  his  very  good  friend 
Antonio,  a  merchant  whose  wealth  had  no  end. 
And  who'd  often  before  had  the  kindness  to  lend 
Him  large  sums,  on  his  note,  which  he'd  managed  to  spend. 

"  Antonio,"  said  he,     "  Kow  listen  to  me : 
I've  just  hit  on  a  scheme  which,  I  think  you'll  agree. 
All  matters  considered,  is  no  bad  design. 
And  which,  if  it  succeeds,  will  suit  your  book  and  mine. 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  know  all  the  money  I've  got, 
Time  and  often,  from  you  has  been  long  gone  to  pot. 
And  in  making  those  loans  you  have  made  a  bad  shot ; 
Now  do  as  the  boys  do  when,  shooting  at  sparrows 
And  tomtits,  they  chance  to  lose  one  of  their  arrows, — 
Shoot  another  the  same  way  ;  I'll  watch  well  its  track, 
And,  turtle  to  tripe,  I'll  bring  both  of  them  back  !— 

So  list  to  my  plan,     And  do  what  you  can 
To  attend  to  and  second  it,  that's  a  good  man ! 

"  There's  a  Lady,  young,  handsome  beyond  all  compare,  at 
A  place  they  call  Belmont,  whom,  when  I  was  there,  at 
The  suppers  and  parties  my  friend  Lord  Mountferrat 
Was  giving  last  season,  we  all  used  to  stare  at. 
19 


290  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

Theu,  as  to  her  wealth,  her  solicitor  told  mine, 
Besides  vast  estates,  a  pearl-fishery,  and  gold  mine, 

Her  iron  strong  box     Seems  bursting  its  locks, 
It's  stuffed  so  Avith  shares  in  '  Grand  Junction'  and  'Docks,' 
Not  to  speak  of  the  money  she's  got  in  the  Stocks, 

French,  Dutch,  and  Brazilian,     Colombian,  and  Chilian, 
In  English  Exchequer-bills  full  half  a  million. 
Not  *  kites,'  manufactured  to  cheat  and  inveigle, 
But  the  right  sort  of  '  flimsy,'  all  signed  by  Monteagle. 
Then  I  know  not  how  much  in  Canal  shares  and  Railways, 
And  more  speculations  I  need  not  detail,  ways 
Of  Vesting  which,  if  not  so  safe  as  some  think  'em, 
Contribute  a  deal  to  improving  one's  income ; 

In  short,  she's  a  Mint !     — Now  I  say,  deuce  is  in't 
If,  with  all  my  experience,  I  can't  take  a  hint, 
And  her  '  eye's  speechless  messages,'  plainer  than  print 
At  the  time  that  I  told  you  of,  known  from  a  squint. 

In  short,  my  dear  Tony,     My  trusty  old  crony. 
Do  stump  up  three  thousand  once  more  as  a  loan :  I 
Am  sure  of  my  game — though,  of  course,  there  are  brutes 
Of  all  sorts  and  sizes  preferring  their  suits 
To  her  you  may  call  the  Italian  Miss  Coutts, 
Yet  Portia — she's  named  from  that  daughter  of  Cato's — 
Is  not  to  be  snapped  up  like  little  potatoes. 

And  I  have  not  a  doubt  I  shall  rout  every  lout 
Ere  you'll  whisper  Jack  Robinson — cut  them  all  out — 

Surmount  every  barrier.  Carry  her,  marry  her ! 
— Then,  hey !  my  old  Tony,  when  once  fairly  noosed. 
For  her  Three-and-a-half  Per  Cents — New  and  Reduced  1" 


With  a  wink  of  his  eye     His  friend  made  reply 
In  his  jocular  mannei',  sly,  caustic,  and  dry. 
"  Still  the  same  boy,  Bassanio — never  say  '  die'! 
—Well,  I  hardly  know  how  I  shall  do't,  but  I'll  try.— 
Don't  suppose  my  affairs  are  at  all  in  a  hash. 
But  the  fact  is,  at  present  I'm  quite  out  of  cash ; 
The  bulk  of  my  property,  merged  in  rich  cargoes,  is 
Tossing  about,  as  you  know,  in  my  Argosies, 


A   LEGEND    OF  ITALY.  291 

Tending,  of  course,  my  resources  to  cripple, — I 
've  one  bound  to  England, — another  to  Tripoli — 
Cyprus — Masulipatam — and  Bombay  ; — 

A  sixth,  by  the  way,     I  consigned  t'other  day 
To  Sir  Gregor  M'Gregor,  Cacique  of  Poyais, 
A  country  where  silver's  as  common  as  clay. 

Meantime,  till  they  tack.     And  come,  some  of  them,  back, 
"WTiat  with  Custom-house  duties,  and  bills  falling  due, 
My  account  with  Jones  Loyd  &  Co.  looks  rather  blue ; 
While,  as  for  the  '  ready,'  I'm  like  a  Church-mouse, — 
I  really  don't  think  there's  five  pounds  in  the  house. 

But,  no  matter  for  that,     Let  me  just  get  my  hat, 
And  my  new  silk  umbrella  that  stands  on  the  mat, 
And  we'll  go  forth  at  once  to  the  market, — we  two, — 
And  try  what  my  credit  in  Venice  can  do  ; 
I  stand  well  on  'Change,  and,  when  all's  said  and  done,  I 
Don't  doubt  I  shall  get  it  for  love  or  for  money." 

They  were  going  to  go,     When,  lo !  down  below, 
In  the  street,  they  heard  somebody  crying,  "  Old  Clo' !" 
— "  By  the  Pope,  there's  the  man  for  our  purpose ! — I  knew 
We  should  not  have  to  search  long.     Solanio,  run  you, 
— Salarino, — quick  ! — haste !  ere  he  get  out  of  view, 
And  call  in  that  scoundrel,  old  Shylock  the  Jew !" 

With  a  pack     Like  a  sack 

Of  old  clothes  at  his  back, 
And  three  hats  on  his  head,  Shylock  came  in  a  crack, 
Saying,  "  Rest  you  fair,  Siguier  Antonio ! — vat,  pray. 
Might  your  vorship  be  pleashed  for  to  vant  in  ma  vay  ?" 

— "  AVhy,  Shylock,  although.     As  you  very  Avell  know, 
I  am  what  they  call  '  warm,' — pay  my  way  as  I  go. 
And,  as  to  myself,  neither  borrow  nor  lend, 
I  can  break  through  a  rule  to  oblige  an  old  friend ; 
And  that's  the  case  now — Lord  Bassanio  would  raise 
Some  three  thousand  ducats— well,— knowing  your  Avays, 
And  that  nought's  to  be  got  from  you,  say  what  one  will, 
Unless  you've  a  couple  of  names  to  the  bill. 


292  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

Why,  for  once,  I'll  put  mine  to  it,     Yea,  seal  and  sign 
to  it — 
Now,  then,  old  Sinner,  let's  hear  what  you'll  say 
As  to  'doing'  a  bill  at  three  months  from  to-day? 
Three  thousand  gold  ducats,  mind — all  in  good  bags 
Of  hard  money — no  sealing-wax,  slippers,  or  rags !" 

— "  Veil,  ma  tear,"  says  the  Jew,     "  I'll  see  vat  I  can  do ! 
But,  Mishter  Antonio,  hark  you,  tish  funny 
You  say  to  me,  '  Shylock,  ma  tear,  ve'd  have  money !' 

Ven  you  very  veil  knows     How  you  shpit  on  ma  clothes, 
And  use  naughty  vords — calls  me  Dog — and  avouch 
Dat  I  put  too  much  int'resht  py  half  in  ma  pouch, 
And  vhile  I,  like  de  resht  of  ma  tribe,  shrug  and  crouch, 
You  find  fault  mit  ma  pargains,  and  say  I'm  a  Smouch. 

— Veil ! — -no  matters,  ma  tear, —     Von  vord  in  your  ear  I 
I'd  be  friends  mit  you  bote — and  to  make  dat  appear, 
Vy,  I'll  find  you  de  moneys  as  soon  as  you  vill. 
Only  von  littel  joke  musht  be  put  in  de  pill ; — 

Ma  tear,  you  musht  say,     If  on  such  and  such  day 
Such  sum  or  such  sums  you  shall  fail  to  repay, 
I  shall  cut  vhere  I  like,  as  de  pargain  is  proke, 
A  fair  pound  of  your  flesh — chest  by  vay  of  a  joke." 

So  novel  a  clause     Caused  Bassanio  to  pause ; 
But  Antonio,  like  most  of  those  sage  "  Johnny  Raws  " 

Who  care  not  three  straws     About  Lawyers  or  Laws, 
And  think  cheaply  of  "  Old  Father  Antic,"  because 
They  have  never  experienced  a  gripe  from  his  claws, 
"  Pooh  pooh'd  "  the  whole  thing. — "  Let  the  Smouch  have  his  way, 

Why,  what  care  I,  pray.     For  his  penalty  ? — Nay, 
It's  a  forfeit  he'd  never  expect  me  to  pay : 

And,  come  what  come  may,     I  hardly  need  say 
My  ships  will  be  back  a  full  month  ere  the  day." 
So,  anxious  to  see  his  friend  off  on  his  journey. 
And  thinking  the  whole  but  a  paltry  concern,  he 

Affixed  with  all  speed     His  name  to  a  deed. 
Duly  stamped  and  drawn  up  by  a  sharp  Jew  attorney. 


A  LEGEND   OF  ITALY.  293 

Thus  again  furnished  forth,  Lord  Bassanio,  instead 
Of  squandering  the  cash,  after  giviug  one  spread, 
With  fiddling  and  masques,  at  the  Saracen's  Head, 

In  the  morning  "  made  phay,"     And  without  more  delay 
Started  off  in  the  steamboat  for  Belmont  next  day. 

But  scarcely  had  he     From  the  harbor  got  free, 
And  left  the  Lagunes  for  the  broad  open  sea. 
Ere  the  'Change  and  Rialto  both  ruug  with  the  news 
That  he'd  carried  off  more  than  mere  cash  from  the  Jew's. 

Though  Shylock  was  old.     And,  if  rolling  in  gold, 
Was  as  ugly  a  dog  as  you'd  wish  to  behold. 
For  few  in  his  tribe  'mongst  their  Levis  and  Moseses 
Sported  so  Jewish  an  eye,  beard,  and  nose  as  his, 
Still,  whate'er  the  opinions  of  Horace  and  some  be, 
Your  aquilce  generate  so??ietimes  Cohimbce.^ 
Like  Jephthah,  as  Hamlet  says,  he'd  "  one  fair  daughter," 
And  every  gallant  who  caught  sigh£  of  her  thought  her 
A  jewel — a  gem  of  the  very  first  water ; 

A  great  many  sought  her.     Till  one  at  last  caught  her, 
And,  upsetting  all  that  the  Rabbis  had  taught  her. 
To  feelings  so  truly  reciprocal  brought  her. 

That  the  very  same  night    Bassanio  thought  right 
To  give  all  his  old  friends  that  farewell  "  invite," 
And  while  Shylock  was  gone  there  to  feed  out  of  spite. 
On  "  wings  made  by  a  tailor  "  the  damsel  took  flight. 

By  these  "  wings  "  I'd  express     A  gray  duffle  dress. 
With  brass  badge  and  muflin  cap,  made,  as  by  rule, 
For  an  upper-class  boy  in  the  National  School. 
Jessy   ransacked   the   house,  popped  her  breeks  on,  and 

when  so 
Disguised,  bolted  off  with  her  beau — one  Lorenzo, 
An  "  Unthrift,"  who  lost  not  a  moment  in  whisking 

Her  into  the  boat.     And  was  fairly  afloat 
Ere  her  Pa  had  got  rid  of  the  smell  of  the  griskin. 


*  Nee  imbellem  feroces 
Progeneraut  aquilae  columbam.— Hoe. 


294  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

Next  day,  while  old  Shylock  was  making  a  racket, 
And  threatening  how  well  he'd  dust  every  man's  jacket 
Who'd  helped  her  in  getting  aboard  of  the  packet, 
Bassanio  at  Belmont  was  capering  and  prancing, 
And  bowing,  and  scraping,  and  singing,  and  dancing, 
Making  eyes  at  Miss  Portia,  and  doing  his  best 
To  perform  the  polite,  and  to  cut  out  the  rest ; 
And,  if  left  to  herself,  he  no  doubt  had  succeeded, 
For  none  of  them  waltzed  so  genteelly  as  he  did ; 

But  an  obstacle  lay.     Of  some  weight,  in  his  way. 
The  defunct  Mr.  P.,  who  was  now  turned  to  clay. 
Had  been  an  odd  man,  and,  though  all  for  the  best  he  meant, 
Left  but  a  queer  sort  of  "  Last  will  and  testament," — 

Bequeathing  her  hand,     With  her  houses  and  land, 
&c.,  from  motives  one  don't  understand. 
As  she  rev'renced  his  memory,  and  valued  his  blessing, 
To  him  who  should  turn  out  the  best  hand  at  guessing ! 

Like  a  good  girl,  she  did     Just  what  she  was  bid, 
In  one  of  three  caskets  her  picture  she  hid, 
And  clapped  a  conundrum  a-top  of  each  lid. 

A  couple  of  Princes,  a  black  and  a  white  one. 

Tried  first,  but  they  both  failed  in  choosing  the  right  one ; 

Another  from  Naples,  who  shoed  his  own  horses ; 

A  French   Lord,  whose  graces   might   vie   with   Count      * 

D'Orsay's ; 
A  young  English  Baron ;  a  Scotch  Peer  his  neighbor : 
A  dull  drunken  Saxon,  all  moustache  and  sabre, — 
All  followed,  and  all  had  their  pains  for  their  labor. 
Bassanio  came  last — happy  man  be  his  dole ! 
Put  his  conjuring  cap  on, — considered  the  whole, — 

The  gold  put  aside  as     Mere  "  hard  food  for  Midas," 
The  silver  bade  trudge    As  a  "  pale  common  drudge ;" 
Then  choosing  the  little  lead  box  in  the  middle. 
Came  plump  on  the  picture,  and  found  out  the  riddle. 

Now,  you're  not  such  a  goose  as  to  think,  I  dare  say, 
Gentle  Reader,  that  all  this  was  done  in  a  day. 


A   LEGEND    OF  ITALY  295 

Any  more  than  the  dome     Of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome 
"Was  built  in  the  same  space  of  time ;  and,  in  fact, 
Whilst  Bassanio  was  doing     His  billing  and  cooing, 
Three  months  had  gone  by  ere  he  reached  the  fifth  act; 
Meanwhile  that  unfortunate  bill  became  due. 
Which  his  Lordship  had  almost  forgot,  to  the  Jew, 

And  Antonio  grew     In  a  deuce  of  a  stew, 
For  he  could  not  cash  up,  spite  of  all  he  could  do 
(The  bitter  old  Israelite  would  not  renew)  ; 
What    with    contrary    winds,    storms,    and    wrecks,    and 

embargoes,  his 
Funds  were  all  stopped,  or  gone  down  in  his  argosies, 
None  of  the  set  having  come  into  port, 
And  Shylock's  attorney  was  moving  the  Court 
For  the  forfeit  supposed  to  be  set  down  in  sport. 

The  serious  news    Of  this  step  of  the  Jew's, 
And  his  fixed  resolution  all  terms  to  refuse. 
Gave  the  newly-made  Bridegroom  a  fit  of  "  the  Blues," 
Especially,  too,  as  it  came  from  the  pen 
Of  his  poor  friend  himself  on  the  wedding-day, — then. 
When  the  Parson  had  scarce  shut  his  book  up,  and  when 
The  Clerk  was  yet  uttering  the  final  Amen. 

"  Dear  Friend,"  it  continued,  "  all's  up  with  me — I 
Have  nothing  on  earth  now  to  do  but  to  die ! 
And  as  death  clears  all  scores,  you're  no  longer  my  debtor ; 
I    should    take    it    as     kind    Could    you    come — never 
mind — 
If  your  love  don't  persuade  you,  why, — don't  let  this  letter !" 

I  hardly  need  say  this  was  scarcely  read  o'er 

Ere  a  post-chaise  and  four    Was  brought  round  to  the 
door. 
And  Bassanio,  though  doubtless  he  thought  it  a  bore. 
Gave  his  lady  one  kiss,  and  then  started  at  score. 

But  scarce  in  his  flight     Had  he  got  out  of  sight 
Ere  Portia,  addressing  a  groom  said,  "  My  lad,  you  a 
Journey  must  take  on  the  instant  to  Padua ; 


296  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

Find  out  there  Bellario,  a  Doctor  of  Laws, 
Who,  like  Follett,  is  never  left  out  of  a  cause. 

And  give  him  this  note.     Which  I've  hastily  wrote. 
Take  the  papers  he'll  give  you — then  push  for  the  ferry 
Below,  where  I'll  meet  you ;  you'll  do't  in  a  wherry, 
If  you  can't  find  a  boat  on  the  Brenta  with  sails  to  it. 
— Stay,  bring  his  gown  too,  and  wig  with  three  tails  to  it." 

Giovanni  (that's  Jack)     Brought  out  his  hack, 
Made  a  bow  to  his  mistress,  then  jumped  on  its  back. 
Put  his  hand  to  his  hat,  and  was  off  in  a  crack. 
The  Signora  soon  followed,  herself,  taking  as  her 
Own  escort,  Nerissa,  her  maid,  and  Balthasar. 


"  The  Court  is  prepared,  the  Lawyers  are  met, 

The  Judges  all  ranged,  a  terrible  show !" 
As  Captain  Macheath  says, — and  when  one's  in  debt. 

The  sight's  as  unpleasant  a  one  as  I  know. 
Yet  still  not  so  bad  after  all,  I  suppose, 
As  if,  when  one  cannot  discharge  what  one  owes, 
They  should  bid  people  cut  off  one's  toes  or  one's  nose ; 

Yet  here,  a  worse  fate.     Stands  Antonio,  of  late 
A  Merchant,  might  vie  e'en  with  Princes  in  state. 
With  his  waistcoat  unbuttoned,  prepared  for  the  knife. 
Which,  in  taking  a  pound  of  flesh,  must  take  his  life ; 
— On  the  other  side  Shylock,  his  bag  on  the  floor. 
And  three  shocking  bad  hats  on  his  head,  as  before, 

Imperturbable  stands.     As  he  waits  their  commands 
With  his  scales  and  his  great  snicker-snee  in  his  hands : 
— Between  them,  equipt  in  a  wig,  gown,  and  bands. 
With  a  very  smooth  face,  a  young  dandified  Lawyer, 
Whose  air,  ne'ertheless,  speaks  him  quite  a  top-sawyer, 

Though  his  hopes  are  but  feeble.     Does  his  possible 
To  make  the  hard  Hebrew  to  mercy  incline, 
And  in  lieu  of  his  three  thousand  ducats  take  nine. 
Which  Bassanio,  for  reasons  we  well  may  divine. 
Shows  in  so  many  bags  all  drawn  up  in  a  line. 
But  vain  are  all  efforts  to  soften  him — still 


A  LEGEND   OF  ITALY.  297 

He  points  to  the  bond     He  so  often  has  conn'd, 
And  says  in  plain  terms  he'll  be  shot  if  he  will. 
So  the  dandified  lawyer,  with  talking  grown  hoarse, 
Says,  "  I  can  say  no  more — let  the  law  take  its  course." 

Just  fancy  the  gleam  of  the  eye  of  the  Jew, 

As  he  sharpened  his  knife  on  the  sole  of  his  shoe 

From  the  toe  to  the  heel,     And  grasping  the  steel, 
With  a  business-like  air  was  beginning  to  feel 
Whereabouts  he  should  cut,  as  a  butcher  would  veal. 
When  the  dandified  Judge  put  a  spoke  in  his  wheel. 

"  Stay,  Shylock,"  says  he ;     "  Here's  one  thing — you  see 
This  bond  of  yours  gives  you  here  no  jot  of  blood ! 
— The    words    are    'A    pound    of    flesh,' — that's    clear    as 

mud — 
Slice  away  then,  old  fellow — but  mind ! — if  you  spill 
One  drop  of  his  claret  that's  not  in  your  bill, 
I'll  hang  you  like  Haman ! — by  Jingo,  I  will !" 

When  apprised  of  this  flaw.     You  never  yet  saw 
Such  an  awfully  marked  elongation  of  jaw 
As  in  Shylock,  who  cried,  "  Plesh  ma  heart !  ish  dat  law  ?" — 

03*  went  his  three  hats.     And  he  looked  as  the  cats 
Do,  whenever  a  mouse  has  escaped  from  their  claw. 
— " '  Ish't  the  law  ?' — why  the  thing  won't  admit  of  a  query — 

No  doubt  of  the  fact,     Only  look  at  the  Act ; 
Ado  quinto,  caj? :  tertio,  Dogi  Falieri — 
Nay,  if,  rather  than  cut,  you'd  relinquish  the  debt. 
The  Law,  Master  Shy,  has  a  hold  on  you  yet. 
See  Foscari's  '  Statutes  at  large' — '  If  a  Stranger 
A  Citizen's  life  shall,  with  malice,  endanger. 
The  whole  of  his  property,  little  or  great, 
Shall  go,  on  conviction,  one  half  to  the  State, 
And  one  to  the  person  pursued  by  his  hate; 

And,  not  to  create     Any  further  debate, 
The  Doge,  if  he  pleases,  may  cut  ofi"  his  pate.' 
So  down  on  your  marrowbones,  Jew%  and  ask  mercy  I 
Defendant  and  Plaintifl"  are  now  iv'mj  wersy." 


298  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

What  need  to  declare     How  pleased  they  all  were 
At  so  joyful  an  end  to  so  sad  an  affair  ? 
Or  Bassanio's  delight  at  the  turn  things  had  taken, 
His  friend  having  saved,  to  the  letter,  his  bacon  ? — 
How  Shylock  got  shaved,  and  turned  Christian,  though  late, 
To  save  a  life-int'rest  in  half  his  estate  ? 
How  the  dandified  Lawyer  who'd  managed  the  thing 
Would  not  take  any  fee  for  his  pains  but  a  ring 
Which  Mi-s.  Bassauio  had  given  to  her  spouse, 
With  injunctions  to  keep  it  on  leaving  the  house? — 

How,  when  he  and  the  spark     Who  appeared  as  his  clerk 
Had  thrown  oif  their  wigs,  and  their  gowns,  and  their  jetty 

coats, 
There  stood  Nerissa  and  Portia  in  petticoats  ? 
How  they  pouted,  and  flouted,  and  acted  the  cruel, 
Because  Lord  Bassanio  had  not  kept  his  jewel  ? — 

How  they   scolded   and   broke   out,     Till,   having   their 
joke  out. 
They  kissed,  and  were  friends,  and,  all  blessing  and  blessed, 

Drove  home  by  the  light     Of  a  moonshiny  night, 
Like  the  one  in  which  Troilus,  the  brave  Trojan  knight. 
Sat  astride  on  a  wall,  and  sigh'd  after  his  Cressid  ? — 

All  this,  if  'twere  meet,     I'd  go  on  to  repeat. 
But  a  story  spun  out  so's  by  no  means  a  treat. 
So,  I'll  merely  relate  what,  in  spite  of  the  pains 
I  have  taken  to  rummage  among  his  remains, 
No  edition  of  Shakspeare  I've  met  with  contains ; 
But,  if  the  account  which  I've  heard  be  the  true  one. 
We  shall  have  it,  no  doubt,  before  long,  in  a  new  one. 

In  an  MS.,  then,  sold     For  its  full  weight  in  gold. 
And  knocked  down  to  my  friend  Lord  Tomnoddy,  I'm  told 
It's  recorded  that  Jessy,  coquettish  and  vain. 
Gave  her  husband,  Lorenzo,  a  good  deal  of  pain ; 
Being  mildly  rebuked,  she  levanted  again. 
Ran  away  with  a  Scotchman,  and,  crossing  the  main. 
Became  known  by  the  name  of  the  "  Flower  of  Dunblane." 


A   LEGEND    OF  ITALY.  299 

That  Antonio,  whose  piety  caused,  as  we've  seen, 
Him  to  spit  upon  every  old  Jew's  gaberdine. 

And  whose  goodness  to  paint     All  colors  were  faint, 
Acquired  the  well-merited  prefix  of  "  Saint ;" 
Aud^the  Doge,  his  admirer,  of  honor  the  fount, 
Having  given  him  a  patent,  and  made  him  a  Count, 
He  went  over  to  England,  got  nat'ralized  there. 
And  espoused  a  rich  heiress  in  Hanover  Square. 

That  Shylock  came  with  him,  no  longer  a  Jew, 
But  converted,  I  think  may  be  possibly  true ; 
But  that  Walpole,  as  these  self-same  papers  aver, 
By  changing  the  y  in  his  name  into  er, 
Should  allow  him  a  fictitious  surname  to  dish  up. 
And  in  Seventeen  Twenty-eight  make  him  a  Bishop, 
I  cannot  believe,  but  shall  still  think  them  two  men 
Till  some  Sage  proves  the  fact  "  with  his  usual  acumen" 


MORAL. 

From  this  tale  of  the  Bard     It's  uncommonly  hard 
If  an  Editor  can't  draw  a  moral. — 'Tis  clear. 
Then, — in  ev'ry  young  wife-seeking  Bachelor's  ear 
A  maxim,  'bove  all  other  stories,  this  one  drums, — 
"Pitch  Greek  to  Old  Harry,  and  stick  to  Conun- 
drums !" 

To  new-married  Ladies  this  lesson  it  teaches, 

"  You're  '  no  that  far  wrong'  in  assuming  the  breeches!" 

Moneyed  men  upon  'Change,  and  rich  Merchants,  it  schools 

To  look  well  to  assets,  nor  play  with  edge  tools ! 

Last  of  all,  this  remarkable  History  shows  men 

What  caution  they  need  when  they  deal  with  old-clothes  men ; 

So  bid  John  and  Mary     To  mind  and  be  wary. 
And  never  let  one  of  them  come  down  the  are' ! 


300  THE  avto-da-fA 


From  St.  Mark  to  St.  Lawrence — from  the  Rialto  to  the 
Escurial — from  one  Peninsula  to  another! — it  is  but  a  hop, 
step,  and  jump — your  toe  at  Genoa,  your  heel  at  Marseilles, 
and  a  good  hearty  spring  pops  you  down  at  once  in  the  very 
heart  of  Old  Castille.  That  Sir  Peregrine  Ingoldsby,  then  a 
young  man,  was  at  Madrid  soon  after  the  peace  of  Ryswick, 
there  is  extant  a  long  correspondence  of  his  to  prove.  Various 
passages  in  it  countenance  the  supposition  that  his  tour  was 
partly  undertaken  for  political  purposes;  and  this  opinion  is 
much  strengthened  by  certain  allusions  in  several  of  his  letters 
addressed,  in  after  life,  to  his  friend  Sir  Horace  Mann,  then 
acting  in  the  capacity  of  Envoy  to  the  Court  of  Tuscany.  Al- 
though the  Knight  spent  several  months  in  Spain,  and  visited 
many  of  her  principal  cities,  there  is  no  proof  of  his  having 
actually  "  seen  Seville,"  beyond  the  internal  evidence  incident- 
ally supplied  by  the  following  legend.  The  events  to  which  it 
alludes  were,  of  course,  of  a  much  earlier  date,  though  the  gen- 
ealogical records  of  the  '*  kings  of  both  the  Indies "  have  been 
in  vain  consulted  for  the  purpose  of  fixing  their  precise  date ; 
and  even  Mr.  Sinipkinson's  research  has  failed  to  determine 
which  of  the  royal  stock  rejoicing  in  the  name  of  Ferdinand 
is  the  hero  of  the  legend.  The  conglomeration  of  Christian 
names  usual  in  the  families  of  the  haute  noblesse  of  Spain  adds 
to  the  difiiculty;  not  that  this  inconvenient  accumulation  of 
prefixes  is  peculiar  to  the  country  in  question :  witness  my  ex- 
cellent friend  Field-Marshal  Count  Herman  Karl  Heinrich 
Socrates  von  der  Nodgerrie  zii  Pfefferkorn,  whose  appellations 
puzzled  the  recording  clerk  of  one  of  our  courts  lately — and 
that  not  a  little. 

That  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  genus  Homo,  species  Monk, 
flourished  in  the  earlier  moiety  of  the  fifteenth  century,  under 
the  appellation  of  Torquemada,  is  notorious — and  this  fact 
might  seem  to  establish  the  era  of  the  story;   but  then  his 


A   LEGEND    OF  SPAIN.  301 

name  was  John,  not  Dominic — though  he  was  a  Dominican, 
and  hence  the  mistake,  if  any,  may  perhaps  have  originated ; 
but  then,  again,  the  Spanish  Queen  to  whom  he  was  Confessor 
was  called  Isabella,  and  not  Blanche.  It  is  a  puzzling  afiair 
altogether. 

From  his  own  silence  on  the  subject  it  may  well  be  doubted 
whether  the  Avorthy  transcriber  knew  himself  the  date  of  the 
transactions  he  has  recorded ;  the  authenticity  of  the  details, 
however,  cannot  be  well  called  in  question.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
I  shall  make  no  further  question,  but  at  once  introduce  my 
"pensive  public  "-to  , 


A    LEGEND   OF   SPAIN. 
CANTO   I. 

WITH  a  moody  air,  from  morn  till  noon 
King  Ferdinand  paces  the  royal  saloon ; 
From  morn  till  eve     He  does  nothing  but  grieve; 
Sighings  and  sobbings  his  midriff  heave, 
And  he  wipes  his  eyes  with  his  ermined  sleeve. 
And  he  presses  his  feverish  hand  to  his  brow, 
And  he  frowns  and  he  looks  I  can't  tell  you  how ; 
And  the  Spanish  Grandees,  in  their  degrees, 
Are  whispering  about  in  twos  and  in  threes, 
And  there  is  not  a  man  of  them  seems  at  his  ease. 
But  they  gaze  on  the  monarch,  as  watching  what  he  does, 
With  their  very  long  whiskers,  and  longer  Toledos. 
Don  Gaspar,  Don  Gusman,  Don  Juan,  Don  Diego, 
Don  Gomez,  Don  Pedro,  Don  Bias,  Don  Rodrigo, 
Don  Jerome,  Don  Giacomo,  join  Don  Alphonso 

In  making  inquiries     Of  grave  Don  Ramirez, 
The  Chamberlain,  what  it  is  makes  him  take  on  so ; 
A  Monarch  so  great  that  the  soundest  opinions 
Maintain  the  sun  can't  set  throughout  his  dominions. 


802  THE  AUTO-DA-FE. 

But  grave  Don  Ramirez     In  guessing  no  nigher  is 
Than  the  other  grave  Dons  who  propound  these  inquiries ; 
When,  pausing  at  length,  as  beginning  to  tire,  his 
Majesty  beckons,  with  stately  civility, 

To  Senor  Don  Lewis     Conde  d'Aranjuez, 
Who  in  birth,  wealth,  and  consequence  second  to  few  is. 
And  Senor  Don  Manuel,  Count  de  Pacheco, 
A  lineal  descendant  from  King  Pharaoh  Neco, 
Both  Knights  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  highborn  Hidalgos, 
With  whom  e'en  the  King  himself  quite  as  a  " pal"  goes. 

"  Don  Lewis,"  says  he,  "  Just  listen  to  me ; 
And  you.  Count  Pacheco, — I  think  that  we  three 
On  matters  of  state  for  the  most  part  agree, — 

Now  you  both  of  you  know     That  some  six  years  ago, 
Being  then,  for  a  King,  no  indifferent  Beau, 
At  the  altar  I  took,  like  my  forbears  of  old. 

The  Peninsula's  paragon,     Fair  Blanche  of  Aragon, 
For  better,  for  worse,  and  to  have  and  to  hold — 

And  you're  fully  aware.     When  the  matter  took  air, 
How  they  shouted,  and  fired  the  great  guns  in  the  Square, 
Cried  '  Viva  /'  and  rung  all  the  bells  in  the  steeple. 

And  all  that  sort  of  thing     The  mob  do  Avhen  a  King 
Brings  a  Queen-Consort  home  for  the  good  of  his  people. 

Well ! — six  years  and  a  day     Have  flitted  away 
Since  that  blessed  event,  yet  I'm  sorry  to  say — 
In  fact  it's  the  principal  cause  of  my  pain — 
I  don't  see  any  signs  of  an  Infant  of  Spain ! — 

Now  I  want  to  ask  you,     Cavaliers  true. 
And  Councillors  sage — what  the  deuce  shall  I  do? — 
The  State — don't  you  see  ? — hey  ? — an  heir  to  the  throne — 
Every  monarch,  you  know,  should  have  one  of  his  own — 
Disputed  succession — hey  ? — terrible  Go ! — 
Hum — hey  ? — Old  fellows — you  see ! — don't  you  know  ?" 


Now,  Reader  dear.     If  you've  ever  been  near 
Enough  to  a  Court  to  encounter  a  Peer 
When  his  principal  tenant's  gone  off  in  arrear. 
And  his  brewer  has  sent  in  a  long  bill  for  beer. 


A    LEGEND    OF  SPAIN.  303 

And  his  butcher  and  baker,  Avith  faces  austere, 

Ask  him  to  clear     Oft',  for  furnished  good  cheer, 
Bills  they  say  "  have  been  standing  for  more  than  a  year," 
And  the  tailor  and  shoemaker  also  appear 

With  their  "  little  account"     Of  "  trifling  amount," 
For  Wellingtons,  waistcoats,  pea-jackets,  and — gear 
Which  to  name  in  society's  thought  rather  queer, — 
While  Drummond's  chief  clerk,  with  his  pen  in  his  ear, 
And  a  kind  of  a  sneer,  says,  "  We've  no  effects  here !" 

— Or  if  ever  you've  seen    An  Alderman  keen 

After  turtle,  peep  into  a  silver  tureen, 
In  search  of  the  fat  called  par  excellence  "  green," 
When  there's  none  of  the  meat  left — not  even  the  lean ! — 
— Or  if  ever  you've  witnessed  the  face  of  a  sailor 
Keturned  from  a  voyage,  and  escaped  from  a  gale,  or 
Poetich  "  Boreas,"  that  "  blustering  railer," 
To  find  that  his  wife,  when  he  hastens  to  "  hail "  her. 
Has  just  run  away  with  his  cash — and  a  tailor — 
If  one  of  these  cases  you've  ever  surveyed, 

You'll,  without  my  aid.     To  yourself  have  portrayed 
The  beautiful  mystification  displayed. 
And  the  puzzled  expression  of  manner  and  air 
Exhibited  now  by  the  dignified  pair. 
When  thus  unexpectedly  asked  to  declare 
Their  opinions  as  Councillors,  several  and  joint. 
On  so  delicate,  grave,  and  important  a  point. 

Seuor  Don  Lewis     Conde  d'Aranjuez 
At  length  forced  a  smile  'twixt  the  prim  and  the  grim, 
And  looked  at  Pacheco — Pacheco  at  him — 
Then,  making  a  rev'rence,  and  dropping  his  eyes. 
Coughed,  hemmed,  and  delivered  himself  in  this  wise : 

"  My  Liege ! — unaccustomed  as  I  am  to  speaking 
In  public — an  art  I'm  remarkably  weak  in — 
I  feel  I  should  be — quite  unworthy  the  name 
Of  a  man  and  a  Spaniard — and  highly  to  blame. 

Were  there  not  iu  my  breast     What — can't  be  exprest, — 
And  can  therefore, — your  Majesty, — only  be  guessed — 


304  THE  AUTO-DA-FA 

— What  I  mean  .to  say  is — since  your  Majesty  deigns 
To  ask  my  advice  on  your  welfare — and  Spain's — 
And  on  that  of  your  Majesty's  Bride — that  is,  Wife — 
It's  the — as  I  may  say — proudest  day  of  my  life ! 
But  as  to  the  point — on  a  subject  so  nice 
It's  a  delicate  matter  to  give  one's  advice, 

Especially,  too.     When  one  don't  clearly  view 
The  best  mode  of  proceeding, — or  know  what  to  do ; 
My  decided  opinion,  however,  is  this, 
And  I  fearlessly  say  that  you  can't  do  amiss, 

If,  with  all  that  fine  tact     Both  to  think  and  to  act, 
In  which  all  know  your  Majesty  so  much  excels — 
You  are  graciously  pleased  to — ask  somebody  else !" 

Here  the  noble  Grandee    ISIade  that  sort  of  congee 
Which,  as  Hill  used  to  say,  "  I  once  happened  to  see" 
The  great  Indian  conjurer,  Ramo  Samee, 
Make,  while  swallowing  what  all  thought  a  regular  choker, 
Viz.,  a  small-sword  as  long  and  as  stiff  as  a  poker. 

Then  the  Count  de  Pacheco,  Whose  turn  'twas  to  speak,  o- 
mitting  all  preface,  exclaimed  with  devotion, 
"  Sire,  I  beg  leave  to  second  Don  Lewis's  motion  !" 

Now  a  Monarch  of  Spain     Of  course  could  not  deign 
To  expostulate,  argue,  or,  much  less,  complain 
Of  an  answer  thus  giv'n,  or  to  ask  them  again ; 
So  he  merely  observed,  with  an  air  of  disdain, 
"  Well,  Gentlemen, — since  you  both  shrink  from  the  task 
Of  advising  your  Sovereign — pray  whom  shall  I  ask  ?" 

Each  felt  the  rub.     And  in  Spain  not  a  Sub, 
Much  less  an  Hidalgo,  can  stomach  a  snub, 

So  the  noses  of  these     Castilian  Grandees 
Rise  at  once  in  an  angle  of  several  degrees, 
Till  the  under-lip's  almost  becoming  the  upper. 
Each  perceptibly  grows,  too,  more  stiff  in  the  crupper ; 

Their  right  hands  rest     On  the  left  side  the  breast, 
While  the  hilts  of  their  swords,  by  their  left  hands  deprest. 
Make  the  ends  of  their  scabbards  to  cock  up  behind, 
Till  they're  quite  horizontal  instead  of  inclined, 


A   LEGEND    OF  SPAm.  305 

Aud  Dou  Lewis,  with  scarce  an  attempt  to  disguise 
The  disgust  he  experieuces,  gravely  replies, 
"  Sire,  ask  the  Archbishop — his  Grace  of  Toledo ! — 
He  understands  these  things  much  better  than  we  do !" 

— Pauca  Verba  ! — enough,     Each  turns  off  in  a  huff, 
This  twirling  his  moustache,  that  fingering  his  ruff, 
Like  a  blue-bottle  fly  on  a  rather  large  scale. 
With  a  rather  large  corking-pin  stuck  through  his  tail. 


King  Ferdinand  paces  the  royal  saloon. 

With  a  moody  brow,  and  he  looks  like  a  "  Spoon," 

And  all  the  Court  Nobles,  who  form  the  ring. 

Have  a  spoony  appearance,  of  course,  like  the  King, 

All  of  them  eying  King  Ferdinand 

As  he  goes  up  and  down,  with  his  watch  in  his  hand, 

Which  he  claps  to  his  ear  as  he  walks  to  and  fro, — 

"  What  is  it  can  make  the  Archbishop  so  slow?" 

Hark ! — at  Jast  there's  a  sound  in  the  courtyard  below, 

AVhere  the  Beefeaters  all  are  drawn  up  in  a  row, — 

I  would  say  the  "  Guards,"  for  in  Spain  they're  in  chief  eaters 

Of  omelettes  and  garlic,  and  can't  be  called  Beefeaters ; 

In  fact,  of  the  few     Individuals  I  knew 
Who  ever  had  happened  to  travel  in  Spain, 
There  has  scarce  been  a  person  who  did  not  complain 
Of  their  cookery  and  dishes  as  all  bad  in  grain. 
And  no  one,  I'm  sure,  will  deny  it  who's  tried  a 
Vile  compound  they  have  that's  called  Olla  jyodrida. 

(This,  by  the  by,     's  a  mere  rhyme  to  the  eye. 
For  in  Spanish  the  i  is  pronounced  like  an  e, 
And  they've  not  quite  our  mode  of  pronouncing  the  d. 
In  Castille,  for  instance,  it's  given  through  the  teeth,  ^ 
And  what  we  call  Mac^ricZ,  they  sound  more  like  Madreeth.) 
Of  course  you  will  see  in  a  moment  they've  no  men 
That  at  all  correspond  with  our  Beefeating  Yeomen ; 
So  call  them  "  Walloons,"  or  whatever  you  please. 
By  their  rattles  and  slaps  tiiey're  not  "  standing  at  ease," 
20 


306  THE  AUTO-DA-F^. 

But,  beyond  all  disputing,     Engaged  in  saluting 
Some  very  great  person  among  the  Grandees ; — 
Here  a  Gentleman  Uslier  walks  in  and  declares, 
"  His  Grace  the  Archbishop's  a-coming  up  stairs !" 

The  Most  Reverend  Don  Garcilasso  Quevedo 

Was  just  at  this  time,  as  he     Now  held  the  Primacy 
(Always  attached  to  the  See  of  Toledo), 
A  man  of  great  worship  officii  virtute. 
Versed  in  all  that  pertains  to  a  Councillor's  duty, 

Well  skilled  to  combine     Civil  laws  with  divine ; 
As  a  statesman,  inferior  to  none  in  that  line ; 

As  an  orator,  too.     He  was  equalled  by  few ; 
Uniting,  in  short,  in  tongue,  head-piece,  and  pen. 
The  very  great  powers  of  three  very  great  men, 
Talleyrand, — who  will  never  drive  down  Piccadilly  more 
To    the    Travellers'    Club-House! — Charles    Phillips — and 
Phillimore. 

Not  only  at  home,     But  even  at  Rome, 
There  was  not  a^Prelate  among  them  could  cope 
With  the  Primate  of  Spain  in  the  eyes  of  the  Pope. 

(The  Conclave  was  full,  and  they'd  not  a  spare  hat,  or  he 
'd  long  since  been  Cardinal,  Legate  a  latere, 
A  dignity  fairly  his  due,  without  flattery. 
So  much  he  excited  among  all  beholders 

Their  marvel  to  see     At  his  age — thirty-three — • 
Such  a  very  old  head  on  such  very  young  shoulders.) 
No  wonder  the  King,  then,  in  this  his  distress, 
Should  send  for  so  sage  an  adviser  express, 

Who,  you'll  readily  guess,     Could  not  do  less 
Than  start  off  at  once,  without  stopping  to  dress, 
In  his  haste  to  get  Majesty  out  of  a  mess. 

His  Grace  the  Archbishop  comes  up  the  back  way — 

Set  apart  for  such  Nobles  as  have  the  entree, 

Viz.,  Grandees  of  the  first  class,  both  cleric  and  lay — 

Walks  up  to  the  monarch,  and  makes  him  a  bow, 

As  a  dignified  clergyman  always  knows  how, 

Then  replaces  the  mitre  at  once  on  his  brow ; 


A   LEGEND    OF  SPALV.  307 

For  in  Spain,  recollect,     As  a  mark  of  respect 
To  the  Crown,  if  a  Grandee  uncovers,  it's  quite 
As  a  matter  of  option,  and  not  one  of  right ; 
A  thing  not  conceded  by  our  Royal  Masters, 
Who  always  make  noblemen  take  off  their  "  castors," 

Excejit  the  heirs  male     Of  John  Lord  Kinsale, 
A  stalwart  old  Baron,  who,  acting  as  Henchman 
To  one  of  our  early  Kings,  killed  a  big  Frenchman ; 
A  feat  which  his  Majesty  deigning  to  smile  on, 
Allowed  him  thenceforward  to  stand  with  his  "tile"  on; 
And  all  his  successors  have  kept  the  same  privilege 
Down  from  those  barbarous  times  to  our  civil  age. 
Returning  his  bow  with  a  slight  demi-bob. 
And  replacing  the  watch  in  his  hand  in  his  fob, 
"  My  Lord,"  said  the  King,  "  here's  a  rather  tough  job, 

Which,  it  seems,  of  a  sort  is     To  puzzle  our  Cortes, 
And  since  it  has  quite  flabbergasted  that  Diet,  I . 
Look  to  your  Grace  with  no  little  anxiety 

Concerning  a  point     Which  has  quite  out  of  joint 
Put  us  all  with  respect  to  the  good  of  society : — 

Your  Grace  is  aware    That  we've  not  got  an  Heir. 
Now,  it  seems,  one  and  all,  they  don't  stick  to  declare 
That  of  all  our  advisers  there  is  not  in  Spain  one 
Can  tell,  like  your  Grace,  the  best  way  to  obtain  one ; 
So  put  your  considering  cap  on — we're  curious 
To  learn  your  receipt  for  a  Prince  of  Asturias." 

One  without  the  nice  tact     Of  his  Grace  would  have  backt 
Out  at  once,  as  the  ISToblemen  did, — and,  in  fact. 
He  was,  at  the  first,  rather  posed  how  to  act — 

One  moment — no  more ! —     Bowing  then  as  before, 
He  said,  "  Sire,  'twere  superfluous  for  me  to  acquaint 
The  '  Most  Catholic  King'  in  the  world  that  a  Saint 

Is  the  usual  resource    In  these  cases, — of  course 
Of  their  influence  your  Majesty  well  knows  the  force ; 
If  I  may  be,  therefore,  allowed  to  suggest 
The  plan  which  occurs  to  my  mind  as  the  best. 

Your  Majesty  may  go     At  once  to  St.  Jago, 
Whom,  as  Spain's  patron  Saint,  I  pick  out  from  the  rest : 


308  THE  AVTO-DA-FS. 

If  your  Majesty  looks     Into  Guthrie,  or  Brooks, 
In  all  the  approved  Geographical  books 
You  will  find  Compostella  laid  down  in  the  maps 
Some  two  hundred  and  sev'nty  miles  off;  and,  perhaps, 
In  a  ease  so  important  you  may  not  decline 
A  pedestrian  excursion  to  visit  his  shrine ; 

And,  Sire,  should  you  choose     To  put  peas  in  your  shoes, 
The  Saint,  as  a  Gentleman,  can't  well  refuse 
So  distinguished  a  Pilgrim,  especially  when  he 
Considers  the  boon  will  not  cost  him  one  penny !" 
His  speech  ended,  his  Grace  bowed,  and  put  on  his  mitre 
As  tight  as  before,  and  perhaps  a  thought  tighter. 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !"  says  the  King,    "  I  shall  do  no  such  thing ! 
It's  nonsense, — Old  fellow — you  see — no  use  talking — 
The  peas  set  apart,  I  abominate  walking — 
Such  a  deuced  way  off  too — hey  ? — walk  there — what,  me  ? 
Pooh ! — it's  no  Go,  Old  fellow ! — you  know — don't  you  see  ?" 


"  Well,  Sire,"  with  much  sweetness  the  Prelate  replied, 
"  If  your  Majesty  don't  like  to  walk,  you  can  ride ! 
And  then,  if  you  please.     In  lieu  of  the  peas, 
A  small  portion  of  horse-hair,  cut  fine,  we'll  insert, 
As  a  substitute,  under  your  Majesty's  shirt ; 
Then  a  rope  round  your  collar  instead  of  a  laced  band, — 
A  few  nettles  tucked  into  your  Majesty's  waistband, — 
Assafoetida  mixed  with  your  bouquet  and  civet, 
I'll  warrant  you'll  find  yourself  right  as  a  trivet !" 


"  Pooh  !  pooh !     I  tell  you," 
Quoth  the  King,  "  it  Avon't  do  !" — 
A  cold  perspiration  began  to  b^dew 
His  Majesty's  cheek,  and  he  grew  in  a  stew. 
When  Jose  de  Humez,  the  King's  privy-purse-keeper 
(Many  folks  thought  it  could  scarce  have  a  worse  keeper), 
Came  to  the  rescue,  and  said  with  a  smile, 
"Sire,  your  Majesty  ean't  go — 'twould  take  a  long  while. 
And  you  won't  post  it  under  two  shillings  a  mile  ! ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  SPAIN.  309 

Twenty-seven  pounds  ten     To  get  there — and  then 
Twenty-seven  pounds  ten  more  to  get  back  agen  ! ! 
Sire,  the  tottle's  enormous — you  ought  to  be  Iving 
Of  Golconda  as  well  as  the  Indies,  to  fling 
Such  a  vast  sum  away  upon  any  such  thing !" 

At  this  second  rebuff    The  Archbishop  looked  gruff, 
And  his  eye  glanced  on  Humez  as  if  he'd  say  "  Stuff!" 
But  seeing  the  King  seemed  himself  in  a  huff, 
He  changed  his  demeanor,  and  grew  smooth  enough ; 
Then  taking  his  chin  'twixt  his  finger  and  thumb, 
As  a  help  to  reflection,  gave  vent  to  a  "  Hum !" 
'Twas  the  pause  of  an  instant — his  eye  assumed  fast 
That  expression  which  says,  "  Come,  I've  got  it  at  last !" 

*'  There's  one  plan,"  he  resumed,  "  which  with  all  due  respect  to 
Your  Majesty,  no  one,  I  think,  can  object  to — 
— Since  your  Majesty  don't  like  the  peas  in  the  shoe — or  to 
Travel — what  say  you  to  burning  a  Jew  or  two  ? 

Of  all  cookeries,  most     The  Saints  love  a  roast ! 
And  a  Jew's  of  all  others  the  best  dish  to  toast; 

And  then  for  a  Cook     We  have  not  far  to  look — 
Father  Dominic's  self.  Sire,  your  own  Grand  Inquisitor, 
Luckily  now  at  your  Court  is  a  visitor ; 
Of  his  Rev'rence's  functions  there  is  not  one  weightier 
Than  Heretic-burning — in  fact,  'tis  his  metier. 

Beside  Alguazils,     Who  still  follows  his  heels, 
He  has  always  familiars  enough  at  his  beck  "at  home 
To  pick  you  up  Hebrews  enough  for  a  hecatomb ! 
And  depend  on  it.  Sire,  such  a  glorious  specific 
Would  make  every  Queen  throughout  Europe  prolific !" 

Says  the  King,  "That'll  do! 

Pooh !  pooh ! — burn  a  Jew  ? 
Burn  half  a  score  Jews — burn  a  dozen — burn  two — 

Your  Grace,  it's  a  match !     Burn  all  you  can  catch. 
Men,  women,  and  children — Pooh  !  pooh  ! — great  and  small — 
Old  clothes — slippers — sealing-wax — Pooh ! — burn  them  all ! 


310  TUE  AUT0-DA-F£. 

For  once  we'll  be  gay,     A  grand  Auto-da-fe 
Is  much  better  fun  than  a  ball  or  a  play  !" 
So  the  warrant  was  made  out  without  more  delay. 
Drawn,  sealed,  and  delivered,  and 

(Signed) 

YO  EL  RE! 


CANTO   II. 

There  is  not  a  nation  in  Europe  but  labors 
To  toady  itself  and  to  humbug  its  neighbors — 
"  Earth  has  no  svich  folks — no  folks  such  a  city, 
So  great  or  so  grand,  or  so  fine  or  so  pretty," 
Said  Louis  Quatorze,     "As  this  Paris  of  ours!" 
— Mr.  Daniel  O'Connell  exclaims,  "  By  the  Pow'rs, 
Ould  Ireland's  on  all  hands  admitted  to  be 
The  first  flow'r  of  the  earth,  and  first  Qim  of  the  sea !" — 
— Mr.  Bull  will  inform  you  that  Neptune, — a  lad  he. 
With  more  of  affection  than  rev'rence,  styles  "  Daddy," — 

Did  not  scruple  to  "  say     To  Freedom,  one  day," 
That  if  ever  he  changed  his  aquatics  for  dry  land. 
His  home  should  be  Mr.  B.'s  "  Tight  little  Island."— 

He  adds,  too,  that  he.     The  said  Mr.  B., 
Of  all  possible  Frenchmen  can  fight  any  three ; 
That,  with  no  greater  odds,  he  knows  well  how  to  treat  them, 
To  meet  them,  defeat  them,  and  beat  them,  and  eat  them. — 
— In  Italy,  too,  'tis  the  same  to  the  letter ; 

There  each  Lazzarone     Will  cry  to  his  crony, 
"  See  Naples,  then  die  !*  and  the  sooner  the  better !" 
The  Portuguese  say,  as  a  well-understood  thing, 
"  Who  has  not  seen  Lisbonf  has  not  seen  a  good  thing !" — 
While  an  old  Spanish  proverb  runs  glibly  as  under, 

"  QUIEN    NO    HA   VISTO    SeVILLA       No    HA   VISTO    MAEA- 
VILLA  !" 

"  He  who  ne'er  has  viewed  Seville  has  ne'er  viewed  a  AVonder !" 
And  from  all  I  can  learn  this  is  no  such  great  blunder. 

*  "  Vedi  Napoli  e  poi  mori !" 
f  "  Quern  nao  tern  visto  Lisboa 
Nao  tern  visto  cousa  boa." 


A    LEGEND    OF  SPAIN.  .311 

In  fact,  from  the  river,     The  famed  Guadalquiver, 
Where  many  a  knight's  had  cold  steel  through  his  liver,* 
The  prospect  is  grand.     The  Iglesia  Mayor 
Has  a  splendid  effect  on  the  opposite  shore, 
With  its  lofty  Giralda,  while  two  or  three  score 
Of  magnificent  structures  around,  perhaps  more. 
As  our  Irish  friends  have  it,  are  there  "  to  the  fore :" 

Then  the  old  Alcazar,     More  ancient  by  far, 
As  some  say,  while  some  call  it  one  of  the  palaces 
Built  in  twelve  hundred  and  odd  by  Abdalasis, 
With  its  horse-shoe-shaped  arches  of  Arabesque  tracery, — 
Which  the  architect  seems  to  have  studied  to  place  awry, — 

Saracenic  and  rich  ;     And  more  buildings  "  the  which," 
As  old  Lilly,  in  whom  I've  been  looking  a  bit  o'  late. 
Says,  "you'd  be  bored  should  I  now  recapitulate." f 

In  brief,  then,  the  view     Is  so  fine  and  so  new, 
It  would  make  you  exclaim,  'twould  so  forcibly  strike  ye, 
If  a  Frenchman,  "Superbe!" — if  an  Englishman,  "Crikey!" 

Yes !  thou  art  "  Wonderful  !" — but  oh, 

'Tis  sad  to  think,  'raid  scenes  so  bright 
As  thine,  fair  Seville,  sounds  of  woe, 

And  shrieks  of  pain  and  wild  affi'ight. 
And  soul-wrung  groans  of  deep  despair. 
And  blood,  and  death,  should  mingle  there ! 

Yes !  thou  art  "  Wonderful  !" — the  flames 

That  on  thy  towers  reflected  shine, 
While  earth's  proud  Lords  and  high-born  Dames, 

Descendants  of  a  mighty  line. 
With  cold  unaltered  looks  are  by 
To  gaze,  with  an  unpitying  eye, 
On  wretches  in  their  agony, — 

*  "  Rio  verde,  Rio  verde,  etc." 
"  Glassy  water,  glassy  water, 

Down  whose  current  clear  and  strong, 
Chiefs,  confused  in  mutual  slaughter. 
Moor  and  Christian,  roll  along." — 

Old  Spanuh  Romance. 
f  Cum  multis  aliis  qua;  nunc  perscriberc  longura  est. 

Propria  qua:  maribm. 


312  THE  AUTO-DA-FE. 

All  speak  thee  "  Wonderful  " — the  phrase 
Befits  thee  well — the  fearful  blaze 
Of  yon  piled  fagots'  lurid  light, 
Where  writhing  victims  mock  the  sight, — 
The  scorched  limb  shrivelling  in  its  chains, — 
The  hot  blood  parched  in  living  veins, — 
The  crackling  nerve, — the  fearful  knell 
Rung  out  by  that  remorseless  bell, — 
Those  shouts  from  human  fiends  that  swell, — 
That  withering  screaiji, — that  frantic  }'ell, — 
All,  Seville,  all  too  truly  tell 
Thou  art  a  "  Marvel  " — and  a  Hell ! 
God !  that  the  worm  that  thou  hast  made 
Should  thus  his  brother  worm  invade ! 
Count  deeds  like  these  good  service  done, 
And  deem  THIISTE  eye  looks  smiling  on ! 

Yet  there  at  his  ease,  with  his  whole  Court  around  him. 
King  Ferdinand  sits  "in  his  Glory" — confound  him! — - 

Leaning  back  in  his  chair.  With  a  satisfied  air, 
And  enjoying  the  bother,  the  smoke,  and  the  smother, 
With  one  knee  cocked  carelessly  over  the  other ; 

His  pouncet-box  goes     To  and  fro  at  his  nose, 
As  somewhat  misliking  the  smell  of  old  clothes. 
And  seeming  to  hint,  by  this  action  emphatic, 
That  Jews,  e'en  when  roasted,  are  not  aromatic  ; 

There,  too,  fair  Ladies,     From  Xeres  and  Cadiz, 
Catalinas,  and  Julias,  and  fair  liiesillas, 
In  splendid  lace  veils,  and  becoming  mantillas ; 
Elviras,  Antonias,  and  Claras,  and  Floras, 
And  dark -eyed  Jacinthas,  and  soft  Isidoras, 
Are  crowding  the  "  boxes,"  and  looking  on  coolly 
Though  'twas  but  one  of  their  common  tertulias, 
Partaking,  as  usual,  of  wafer  and  ices, 
Snow-water,  and  melons  cut  out  into  slices, 
And  chocolate, — furnished  at  cofiTee-house  prices ; 

While  many  a  suitor     And  gay  coadjutor 
In  the  eating-and-drinking  line  scorns  to  be  neuter ; 
One,  being  perhaps  just  returned  with  his  tutor 


A   LEGEND    OF  SPAIN.  313 

From  travel  in  England,  is  tempting  his  "future" 

With  a  luxury  neat  as  imported,  "  The  Pewter," 

And  charming  the  dear  Violautes  and  Ineses 

With  a  three-cornered  sandwich  and  soupgon  of  "  Guinncss's ;" 

While  another,  from  Paris  but  newly  come  back, 

Hints  "  the  least  taste  in  life"  of  the  best  cognac. 

Such  ogling  and  eying,     In  short,  and  such  sighing, 

And  such  complimenting  (one  must  not  say  1 g) 

Of  smart  Cavaliers  with  each  other  still  vying, 

Mixed  up  with  the  crying,     And  groans  of  the  dying, 
All  hissing,  and  spitting,  and  broiling,  and  frying, 
Form  a  scene  which,  although  there  can  be  no  denying 
To  a  bon  Catholique  it  may  prove  edifying, 
I  doubt  if  a  Protestant  smart  Beau,  or  merry  Belle, 
Might  not  shrink  from  it  as  somewhat  too  terrible. 
It's  a  question  with  me  if  you  ever  surveyed  a 
More  stern-looking  mortal  than  old  Torquemada, 
Renowned  Father  Dominic,  famous  for  twisting  dom- 
estic and  foreign  necks  all  over  Christendom  ; 

Morescoes  or  Jews,     Not  a  penny  to  choose, 
If  a  dog  of  a  heretic  dare  to  refuse 
A  glass  of  old  port,  or  a  slice  from  a  griskin, 
The  good  Padre  soon  would  so  set  him  a  frisking, 
That  I  would  not,  for — more  than  I'll  say — be  in  his  skin. 

'Twas  just  the  same  thing  with  his  own  race  and  nation. 
And  Christian  Dissenters  of  every  persuasion, 

Muggletonian  or  Quaker,     Or  Jumper  or  Shaker, 
No  matter  with  whom  in  opinion  partaker, 
George  Whitfield,  John  Bunyan,  or  Thomas  Gat-acre, 
They'd  no  better  chance  than  a  Bonze  or  a  Fakir ; 
If  a  woman,  it  skilled  not — if  she  did  not  deem  as  he 
Bade  her  to  deem  touching  Papal  supremacy, 

By  the  Pope,  but  he'd  make  her !     From  error  awake  her. 
Or  else — pop  her  into  an  oven  and  bake  her ! 
No  one,  m  short,  ever  came  half  so  near,  as  he 
Did,  to  the  full  extirpation  of  heresy ; 
And  if,  in  the  times  of  which  now  I  am  treating, 
There  had  been  such  a  thing  as  a  "  IManchester  Meeting," 


314  TEE  AUTO-DA-FE. 

"Pretty  pork"  he'd  have  made  "Moderator"  and  "Minister," 
Had  he  but  caught  them  on  his  side  Cape  Finisterre  I — 
Pye  Smith  and  the  rest  of  them  once  in  his  bonfire,  hence- 
forth you'd  have  heard  little  more  of  the  "  Coxference." 
And  there,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  ring, 
He,  too,  sits  "  in  his  Glory,"  confronting  the  King, 
"With  his  cast-iron  countenance  frowning  austerely. 
That  matched  with  his  emhotipomt  body  but  queerly, 
For,  though  grim  his  visage,  his  person  was  pursy, 

Belying  the  rumor    Of  fat  folks'  good  humor ; 
Above  waves  his  banner  of  "  Justice  and  Mercy," 
Below  and  around  stand  a  terrible  band  add- 
ing much  to  the  scene — viz.,  the  "Holy  Hen7\andad,'"' — 
Thai's  "  Brotherhood," — each  looking  grave  as  a  Granddad. 

"Within  the  arena     Before  them  is  seen  a 
Strange,  odd-looking  group,  each  one  dressed  in  a  garment 
Not  "dandified"  clearly,  as  certainly  "varment," 
Being  all  over  vipers  and  snakes,  and  stuck  thick 
"With  multiplied  silhouette  profiles  of  XiCK  ; 

And  a  cap  of  the  same.     All  devils  and  flame. 
Extinguisher-shaped,  much  like  Salisbury  Spire, 
Except  that  the  latter's  of  course  somewhat  higher ; 

A  long  yellow  pinafore     Hangs  down  each  chin  afore. 
On  which,  ere  the  wearer  had  dcmned  it,  a  man  drew 
The  Scotch  badge,  a  Saltire  or  Cross  of  St,  Andrew ; 
Though  I  fairly  confess  I  am  quite  at  a  loss 
To  guess  why  they  should  choose  that  particular  cross, 

Or  to  make  clear  to  you     TNTiat  the  Scotch  had  to  do 
At  all  with  the  business  in  hand, — though  it's  true 
That  the  vestment  aforesaid,  perhaps  from  its  hue. 
Viz.,  yeUow  in  juxtaposition  with  blue 
(A  tinge  of  which  latter  tint  could  but  accrue 
On  the  faces  of  wretches,  of  course  in  a  stew 
As  to  what  their  tormentors  were  going  to  do^, 
Itlight  make  people  fency,  who  no  better  knew. 
They  were  somehow  connected  with  Jeffrey's  Review ; 

Especially,  too,     As  it's  certain  that  few 
Things  would  make  Father  Dominic  blither  or  happier 
Than  to  catch  hold  of  it,  or  its  Chef,  Macvey  Napier. — 


A    LEGEND    OF  SPAIN.  315 

No  matter  for  that — my  description  to  crf)\vn, 

All  the  flames  and  the  devila  were  turned  upside  down 

On  this  habit,  facetiously  termed  *Sa/i  Benito, 

Much  like  the  dress  suit     Of  some  nondescript  brute 
From  the  show-van  of  Wombwell  (not  George)  or  Polito. 

And  thrice  happy  they,*     Dressed  out  in  this  way 
To  appear  with  tdai  at  the  Auio-da-fe, — 
Thrice  happy  indeed  whom  the  good  luck  might  fall  to 
Of  devils  tail  upward,  and  "  Fuego  revoUoT' 

For,  only  see  there,     In  the  midst  of  the  Square, 
Where,  perched  upon  poles  six  feet  high  in  the  air. 
Sit,  chained  to  the  stake,  some  two,  three,  or  four  pair 
Of  wretches  whose  eyes,  nose,  complexion,  and  hair. 
Their  Jewish  descent  but  too  plainly  declare ; 
Each  clothed  in  a  garment  more  frightful  by  far,  a 
Smock-frock  sort  of  gaberdine  called  a  Samarra, 
With  three  times  the  number  of  devils  upon  it, — 
A  proportion  observed  on  the  sugar-loaf  bonnet, 
With  this  further  distinction — of  mischief  a  proof — 
That  every  fiend  Jack  stands  upright  on  his  hoof! 

While  the  pictured  flames,  spread     Over  body  and  head. 
Are  three  times  as  crooked,  and  three  times  as  red ! 
All,  too,  pointing  upwards,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Here's  the  real  bonne  bouche  of  the  Auto-da-Je." 

Torquemada,  meanwhile,  with  his  cold,  cruel  smile, 
Sits  looking  on  calmly,  and  watching  the  pile, 
As  his  hooded  "Familiars"  (their  names,  as  some  tell,  come 
From  their  being  so  much  more  "familiar"  than  "welcome") 

Have  by  this  time  begun     To  be  "  poking  their  fun," 
And  their  firebrands,  as  if  they  were  so  many  posies 

Of  lilies  and  roses.     Up  to  the  noses 
Of  Lazarus  Levi  and  Money  Ben  Moses  ; 
While  similar  treatment  is  forcing  out  hollow  moans 
From  Aby  Ben  Lasco  and  Ikey  Ben  Solomons, 
Whose  beards — this  a  black,  that  inclining  to  grizzle — 
Are  smoking,  and  curling,  and  all  in  a  fizzle ; 

*  O  fortunati  nimium  sua  si  t>ona  norint. 


316  THE  AUTO-DA-FR 

The  King,  at  the  same  time,  his  Dons  and  his  visitors, 
Sit  sporting  smiles,  like  the  Holy  Inquisitors. 

Enough  ! — no  more !     Thank  Heaven,  'tis  o'er ! 
The  tragedy's  done !  and  we  now  draw  a  veil 
O'er  a  scene  which  makes  outraged  humanity  quail ; 
The  last  fire's  exhausted,  and  spent  like  a  rocket, 
The  last  wretched  Hebrew's  burnt  down  in  his  socket, 
The  Barriers  are  open,  and  all,  saints  and  sinners, 
King,  Court,  Lords,  and  Commons,  gone  home  to  their  dinners, 

With  a  pleasing  emotion     Produced  by  the  notion 
Of  having  exhibited  so  much  devotion. 
All  chuckling  to  think  how  the  Saints  are  delighted 
At  having  seen  so  many  " Smouches"  ignited: — 

All  save  Privy-purse  Humez,     Who  sconced  in  his  room  is, 
And,  Cocker  in  hand,  in  his  leather-backed  chair, 
Is  puzzling  to  find  out  how  much  the  "  afiair" 
(By  deep  calculations,  the  which  I  can't  follow)  cost, — 
The  iottle,  in  short,  of  the  whole  of  the  Holocaust. 

Perhaps  you  may  think  it  a  rather  odd  thing 

That,  while  talking  so  much  of  the  Court  and  the  King, 

In  describing  the  scene    Through  which  we've  just  been 
I've  not  said  one  syllable  as  to  the  Queen, — 
Especially,  too,  as  her  Majesty's  "  whereabouts," 
All  things  considered,  might  well  be  thought  thereabouts ; 
The  fact  was,  however,  although  little  known, 
Sa  Magestad  had  hit  on  a  plan  of  her  own. 
And  suspecting,  perhaps,  that  an  Auto  alone 
Might  fail  in  secunng  this  "  Heir  to  the  throne," 

Had  made  up  her  mind.     Although  well  inclined 
Towards  galas  and  shows  of  no  matter  what  kind, 

For  once  to  retire.     And  bribe  the  Saints  higher 
Than  merely  by  sitting  and  seeing  a  fire, — 
A  sight,  after  all,  she  did  not  much  admire ; 

So  she  locked  herself  up,     Without  platter  or  cup, 
In  her  Oriel,  resolved  not  to  take  bite  or  sup. 
Not  so  much  as  her  matin  draught  (our  "  early  purl "), 
Nor  put  on  her  jewels,  nor  e'en  let  the  girl 
Who  helped  her  to  di'ess  take  her  hair  out  of  curl, 


A   LEGEND   OF  SPAIN.  317 

But  to  pass  the  whole  morning  in  telling  hor  beads, 

And  in  reading  the  lives  of  the  Saints,  and  their  deeds, 

And  in  vowing  to  visit,  without  shoes  or  sandals, 

Their  shrines,  with  unlimited  orders  for  candles. 

Holy  water,  and  Masses  of  Mozart's  and  Handel's.* 

And  many  a  Pater,  and  Ave,  and  Oredo 

Did  She,  and  her  Father  Confessor,  Quevedo 

(The  clever  Archbishop,  you  know,  of  Toledo), 

Who  came,  as  before,  at  a  very  short  warning, 

Get  through,  without  doubt,  in  the  course  of  that  morning: 

Shut  up,  as  they  were,     With  nobody  there 
To  at  all  interfere  with  so  pious  a  pair ; 
And  the  Saints  must  have  been  stony-hearted  indeed, 
If  they  had  not  allowed  all  these  pains  to  succeed. 
Nay,  it's  not  quite  clear  to  me,  but  their  very  ability 

Might,  Spain  throughout.     Have  been  brought  into  doubt, 
Had  the  Eoyal  bed  still  remained  cursed  with  sterility ; 
St.  Jago,  however,  who  always  is  jealous 
In  Spanish  affairs,  as  their  best  authors  tell  us. 

And  who,  if  he  saw     Anything  like  a  flaw 
In  Spain's  welfare,  would  soon  sing,  "Old  Rose,  burn  the 

bellows !" 
Set  matters  to  rights  like  a  King  of  good  fellows : 

By  his  interference.     Three-fourths  of  a  year  hence, 
There  was  nothing  but  capering,  dancing,  and  singing, 
Cachucas,  Boleros,  and  bells  set  a  ringing. 

In  both  the  Castilles,     Triple-bob-major  peals, 
Rope-dancing,  and  tumbling,  and  somerset-flinging, 

Seguidillas,  Fandangos,     While  ev'ry  gun  bang  goes ; 
And  all  the  way  through,  from  Gibraltar  to  Biscay, 
Figueras  and  Sherry  make  all  the  Dous  frisky 
(Save  Moore's  "  Blakes   and  O'Donuells,"  who   stick  to  the 
v/hisky) ; 

All  the  day  long     The  dance  and  the  song 
Continue  the  general  joy  to  prolong ; 
And  even  long  after  the  close  of  the  day 

*  "That  is,  She  would  have  ordered  them— but  none  are  known,  I  fear,  as  his, 
For  Handel  never  wrote  a  Mass,  and  so  She'd  David  Perez's— 
I  Bow !  wow  !  wow  !     Fol,  lol,  etc.,  etc." 

{Posthumous  Note  by  the  Ghost  of  James  Smith,  Esq.) 


318  THE  auto-da-f:^. 

You  can  hear  little  else  but  "  Hip !  hip !  hurray !" 
The  Escurial,  however,  is  not  quite  so  gay, 
For,  whether  the  Saint  had  not  perfectly  heard 
The  petition  the  Queen  and  Archbishop  preferred, — 
Or  whether  his  head,  from  his  not  being  used   « 
To  an  Auto-da-fe,  was  a  little  confused, — 
Or  whether  the  King,  in  the  smoke  and  the  smother, 
Got  bothered,  and  so  made  some  blunder  or  other, 

I  am  sure  I  can't  say ;     All  I  know  is,  that  day 
There  must  have  been  some  mistake ! — that,  I'm  afraid,  is 

Only  too  clear.     Inasmuch  as  the  dear 
Royal  Twins, — though  fine  babies, — proved  both  little  Ladies  ! 

MORAL. 

Reader  1 — Not  knowing  what  your  "  persuasion  "  may  be, 

Mahometan,  Jewish,  or  even  Parsee, 

Take  a  little  advice  which  may  serve  for  all  three ! 

First — "  When  you  are  at  Borne,  do  as  Rome  does !"  and  note 

all  her 
Ways — drink  what  She  drinks !  and  don't  turn  Tee-totaller ! 

In  Spain,  raison  de  plus,     You  must  do  as  they  do, 
Inasmuch  as  they're  all  there  "  at  sixes  and  sevens," 

Just  as,  you  know,     They  were  some  years  ago, 
In  the  days  of  Don  Carlos  and  Brigadier  Evans ; 
Don't  be  nice,  then — but  take  what  they've  got  in  their  shops. 
Whether  griskins  or  sausages,  ham  or  pork  chops ! 

Next — Avoid  Fancy  trousers ! — their  colors  and  shapes 
Sometimes,  as  you  see,  may  lead  folks  into  scrapes ! 

For  myself,  I  confess     I've  but  small  taste  in  dress, 
My  opinion  is,  therefore,  worth  nothing — or  less — 
But  some  friends  I've  consulted, — much  given  to  watch  one's 

Apparel, — do  say     It's  by  far  the  best  way. 
And  the  safest,  to  do  as  Lord  Brougham  does — buy  Scotch  ones ! 

I  might  now  volunteer  some  advice  to  a  King, — 

Let  Whigs  say  what  they  will,  I  shall  do  no  such  thing, 

But  copy  my  betters,  and  never  begin 

Until,  like  Sir  Robert,  "  I'm  duly  called  in  !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  PALESTINE.  319 

In  the  windows  of  the  great  Hall,  as  well  as  in  those  of  the 
long  gallery,  and  the  Library  at  Tappiugton,  are,  and  have 
been  many  of  them  from  a  very  early  period,  various  "  storied 
panes  "  of  stained  glass,  which,  as  Blue  Dick's*  exploits  did  not 
extend  beyond  the  neighboring  city,  have  remained  unfractured 
down  to  the  present  time.  Among  the  numerous  escutcheons 
there  displayed,  charged  with  armorial  bearings  of  the  family 
and  its  connections,  is  one  in  which  a  chevron  between  three 
eagles'  cuisses,  sable,  is  blazoned  quarterly  with  the  eiigra'ded 
saltire  of  the  Ingoldsbys.  Mr.  Simpkinson  from  Bath, — whose 
merits  as  an  antiquary  are  so  well  known  and  appreciated  as  to 
make  eulogy  superfluous,  not  to  say  impertinent, — has  been  for 
some  time  bringing  his  heraldic  lore  to  bear  on  these  monumenta 
vetusta.  He  pronounces  the  coat  in  question  to  be  that  of  a 
certain  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  who  flourished  temp.  Ric.  L,  and 
founded  the  Abbey  of  Ingoldsby,  in  the  county  of  Kent  and 
diocese  of  Rochester,  early  in  the  reign  of  that  monarch's  suc- 
cessor. The  history  of  the  origin  of  that  pious  establishment 
has  been  rescued  from  the  dirt  and  mildew  in  which  its  chart- 
ularies  have  been  slumbering  for  centuries,  and  is  here  given. 
The  link  of  connection  between  the  two  families  is  shown  by 
the  accompanying  extract  from  our  genealogical  tree. 

Peter  de  Ingoldsby,  Lord  of  Tappington, 
temp :  Stephen,  killed  at  the  battle  of  Lin- 
coln ex  parte  regis. 


Vitalis  de=Alice  de         Geoffrey=Joan             Eichard  Ingoldsby  of  Tap- 
Engaine.    I  Lizures,          de  Brai.  I  only  pington  aforesaid.     A  quo 

I  2d  wife  I  dau. HopiERNUs  Ingoldsby. 

I  I  "I  A      ^ 

Alicia  =  Ingoldsby  de  Bray,  Chiv'ler,  Reginald  de  Bray,  2d  son, 

dau.  &       afterwards  assumed  his  mo-  heir  to  his  brother,  from  whom 

heir,  ther's  name,  founder  of  In-  descended  Edmund,  Lord  Bray, 

sus :  goldsby   Abbey,    A.  D.    1202.  summoned  to  Parliament  21  to 

per  ob.  s.  P.  circite'r  1214.  28  Hen.  8. 

coll :  A 

*  Richard  Culmer,  parson  of  Chartham,  commonly  so  called,  distinguished  himself, 
while  Laud  was  in  the  Tower,  by  breaking  the  beautiful  windows  in  Canterbury 


320  THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE. 

lu  this  document  it  will  be  perceived  that  the  death  of  Lady- 
Alice  lugoldsby  is  attributed  to  strangulation  superinduced  by 
suspension,  whereas,  in  the  veritable  legend  annexed,  no  allu- 
sion is  made  to  the  intervention  of  a  halter.  Unluckily  Sir 
Ingoldsby  left  no  issue,  or  we  might  now  be  "  calling  Cousins " 
with  {ci-devant)  Mrs.  Otway  Cave,  in  whose  favor  the  abeyance 
of  the  old  Barony  of  Bray  has  recently  been  determined  by  the 
Crown.  To  this  same  Barony  we  ourselves  were  not  without 
our  pretensions,  and,  teste  Simpkinson,  had  "  as  good  a  right  to 
it  as  any  body  else."  The  "  Collective  wisdom  of  the  Country  " 
has,  however,  decided  the  point,  and  placed  us  among  that  very 
numerous  class  of  claimants  who  are  "  wrongfully  kept  out  of 
their  property  and  dignities — by  the  right  owners." 

I  seize  with  pleasure  this  opportunity  of  contradicting  a 
malicious  report  that  Mr.  Simpkinson  has,  in  a  late  publication, 
confounded  King  Henry  the  Fifth  with  the  Buke  of  Monmouth, 
and  positively  deny  that  he  has  ever  represented  Walter  Lord 
Clifford  (father  to  Fair  Rosamond)  as  the  leader  of  the  O.  P. 
row. 

^i)c  $npltrgi)|)  penance. 

A  LEGP:ND   of   PALESTINE  AND— WEST   KENT. 

"  I'll  devise  thee  brave  punishments  for  him !" — Shakspeare. 
FYTTE    I. 

OUT  and  spake  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
A  stalwart  knight,  I  ween,  was  he, 

"  Come  east,  come  west,     Come  lance  in  rest, 
Come  falchion  in  hand,  I'll  tickle  the  best 
Of  all  the  Soldan's  Chivalrie !" 

Oh !  they  came  west,  and  they  came  east, 
Twenty-four  Emirs  and  Sheiks  at  the  least, 

And  they  hammered  away     At  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 

Cathedral,  "standing  on  the  top  of  the  city  ladder,  near  sixty  steps  high,  with  a  whole 
pike  in  his  hand,  when  others  would  not  venture  so  high."  This  feat  of  Vandalism 
the  cserulean  worthy  called  "  rattling  down  proud  Backet's  glassie  bones." 


A   LEGEND    OF  PALESTINE.  321 

Fall  back,  fall  edge,  cut,  thrust,  and  point. 
But  he  topped  off  head,  and  he  lopped  off  joint ; 
Twenty  and  three.      Of  high  degree. 
Lay  stark  and  stiff  on  the  crimsoned  lea, 
All — all  save  one — and  he  ran  up  a  tree ! 
"  Now  count  them,  my  Squire,  now  count  them  and  see !" 

"  Twenty  and  three !     Twenty  and  three ! — 
All  of  them  Nobles  of  high  degree  : 
There  they  be  lying  on  Ascalon  lea !" 

Out  and  spake  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 

"  What  news  ?  what  news  ?  come,  tell  to  me ! 

What  news  ?  what  news,  thou  little  Foot-page  ? — 

I've  been  whacking  the  foe  till  it  seems  an  age 
Since  I  was  in  Ingoldsby  Hall  so  free ! 

What  news  ?  what  news  from  Ingoldsby  Hall  ? 

Come  tell  me  now,  thou  Page  so  small !" 

"  Oh,  Hawk  and  Hound     Are  safe  and  sound, 
Beast  in  byre  and  Steed  in  stall ; 

And  the  Watch-dog's  bark,     As  soon  as  it's  dark, 
Bays  wakeful  guard  around  Ingoldsby  Hall !" 

— "  I  care  not  a  pound     For  Hawk  or  for  Hound, 
For  Steed  in  stall,  or  for  Watch-dog's  bay  ; 

Fain  would  I  hear    Of  my  dainty  dear : 
How  fares  Dame  Alice,  my  Lady  gay  ?" — 
Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  he  said  in  his  rage — 
"What  news?  what  news,  thoU  naughty  Foot-page?" 

That  little  Foot-page  full  low  crouched  he, 

And  he  doffed  his  cap,  and  he  bended  his  knee: 

"  Now  lithe  and  listen,  Sir  Bray,  to  me ! — 

Lady  Alice  sits  lonely  in  bower  and  hall, 

Her  sighs  they  rise,  and  her  tears  they  fall : 
She  sits  alone.     And  she  makes  her  moan ; 
Dance  and  song    She  considers  quite  wrong, 
Feast  and  revel     Mere  snares  of  the  devil ; 

She  mendeth  her  hose,  and  she  crieth,  '  Alack  1 

When  will  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  come  back  ?' " 

21 


322  THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE. 

"Thou  liest,  thou  liest,  thou  uaughty  Foot-page! 
Full  loud  dost  thou  lie,  false  Page,  to  me ! 

There  in  thy  breast,     'Neath  thy  silken  vest, 
What  scroll  is  that,  false  Page,  I  see?" 

Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  in  his  rage  drew  near ; 
That  little  Foot-page  he  blenched  with  fear  : 

"  Now  where  may  the  Prior  of  Abingdon  lie  ? 
King  Richard's  Confessor  I  ween  is  he. 

And  tidings  rare     To  him  do  I  bear, 
And  news  of  price  from  his  rich  Abbee !" 

"  Now  nay,  now  nay,  thou  naughty  Page ! 
No  learned  clerk,  I  trow,  am  I, 

But  well  I  ween     May  there  be  seen 
Dame  Alice's  hand,  with  half  an  eye. 
Now  nay,  now  nay,  thou  naughty  Page, 
From  Abingdon  Abbey  comes  not  thy  news ; 

Although  no  clerk.     Well  may  I  mark 
The  particular  turn  of  her  Ps  and  her  Qs !" 

Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray,  in  his  fury  and  rage, 

By  the  back  of  the  neck  takes  that  little  Foot-page ; 

The  scroll  he  seizes,     The  Page  he  squeezes, 
And  buffets, — and  pinches  his  nose  till  he  sneezes ; 
Then  he  cuts  with  his  dagger  the  silken  threads 
Which  they  used  in  those  days  'stead  of  little  Queen's-heads. 

When  the  contents  of  the  scroll  met  his  view. 
Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  in  a  passion  grew ; 

Backward  he  drew     His  nailed  shoe. 
And  he  kicked  that  uaughty  Foot-page,  that  he  flew 
Like  a  cloth-yard  shaft  from  a  bended  yew, 
I  may  not  say  whither — I  never  knew. 

"  Now  count  the  slain    Upon  Ascalon  plain, — 
Go  count  them,  my  Squire,  go  count  them  again !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  PALESTINE.  323 

"  Twenty  and  three !     There  they  be, 
Stiff  and  stark  on  that  crimsoned  lea ! — 

Twenty  and  three  ?    — Stay — let  me  see ! 

Stretched  in  his  gore    There  lieth  one  more ! 
By  the  Pope's  triple  crown  there  are  twenty  and  four! 
Twenty-four  trunks,  I  ween,  are  there, 
But  their  heads  and  their  limbs  are  nobody  knows  where  I 
Ay,  twenty-four  corses  I  rede  there  be, 
Though  one  got  away  and  ran  up  a  tree !" 

"  Look  nigher,  look  nigher,     My  trusty  Squire !" 
"  One  is  the  corse  of  a  barefooted  Friar !" 

Out  and  spake  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 

"  A  boon,  a  boon.  King  Richard !"  quoth  he ; 

"  Now  Heav'n  thee  save !     A  boon  I  crave, 

A  boon,  Sir  King,  on  my  bended  knee. 
A  year  and  a  day     Have  I  beeit  away. 
King  Richard,  from  Ingoldsby  Hall  so  free ; 
Dame  Alice  she  sits  there  in  lonely  guise. 
And  she  makes  her  moan,  and  she  sobs  and  she  sighs, 
And  tears  like  raindrops  fall  from  her  eyes. 
And  she  darueth  her  hose,  and  she  crieth,  '  Alack  I 
Oh !  when  will  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  come  back  ?' 
A  boon,  a  boon,  my  Liege!"  quoth  he: 
"  Fair  Ingoldsby  Hall  I  fain  would  see !" 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up.  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray," 
King  Richard  said  right  graciously ; 

"  Of  all  in  my  host    That  I  love  the  most, 
I  love  none  better,  Sir  Bray,  than  thee ! 
Rise  up,  rise  up,  thou  hast  thy  boon ; 
But — mind  you  make  haste,  and  come  back  again  soon !" 

FYTTE  ir. 

Pope  Gregory  sits  in  St.  Peter's  chair, — 
Pontiff  proud,  I  ween,  is  he, — 

And  a  belted  Knight,     In  armor  dight. 
Is  begging  a  boon  on  his  bended  knee ; 


824  THE   TXGOLDSBY  PENANCE. 

With  signs  of  grief  and  sounds  of  woe 
Featly  he  kisseth  his  Holiness'  toe. 

"  Now  pardon,  Holy  Father,  I  crave  I 

0  Holy  Father,  pardon  and  grace ! 

In  my  I'ury  and  rage     A  little  Foot-page 

1  have  left,  I  fear  me,  in  evil  case ! 

A  scroll  of  shame     From  a  faithless  dame 
Did  that  naughty  Foot-page  to  a  paramour  bear : 

I  gave  him  a  '  lick'     With  a  stick.     And  a  kick 
That  sent  him — I  can't  tell  your  Holiness  where ! 
Had  he  as  many  necks  as  hairs, 
He  had  broken  them  all  down  those  perilous  stairs  !'* 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray ! 
Rise  up,  rise  up,  I  say  to  thee ; 

A  soldier,  I  trow,     Of  the  Cross  art  thou  ; 
Rise  up,  rise  up  from  thy  bended  knee ! 
Ill  it  beseems  that  a  soldier  true 
Of  Holy  Church  should  vainly  sue : — 
— Foot-pages,  they  are  by  no  means  rare ; 
A  thriftless  crew,  I  ween,  be  they : 

Well  mote  we  spare     A  Page — or  a  pair, 
For  the  matter  of  that — Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray. 

But  stout  and  true     Soldiers,  like  you, 
Grow  scarcer  and  scarcer  every  day ! 

Be  prayers  for  the  dead     Duly  read. 
Let  a  mass  be  sung,  and  a  pater  be  said ; 
So  may  your  qualms  of  conscience  cease, 
And  the  little  Foot-page  shall  rest  in  peace !" 

"  Now  pardon,  Holy  Father,  I  crave ! 

0  Holy  Father,  pardon  and  grace ! 

Dame  Alice,  my  wife.     The  bane  of  my  life, 

1  have  left,  I  fear  me,  in  evil  case ! 
A  scroll  of  shame  in  my  rage  I  tore. 
Which  that  caitiif  Page  to  a  paramour  bore : 
'Twere  bootless  to  tell  how  I  stormed  and  swore ; 
Alack !  alack !  too  surely  I  knew 


A   LEGEND    OF  PALESTINE.  325 

The  turn  of  each  P  and  the  tail  of  each  Q, 
And  away  to  Ingoldsby  Hall  I  flew ! 

Dame  Alice  I  found, —    She  sank  on  the  ground ; 
I  twisted  her  neck  till  I  twisted  it  round ! 
With  jibe  and  jeer,  and  mock  and  scoff, 
I  twisted  it  on — till  I  twisted  it  off! 
All  the  King's  Doctors  and  all  the  King's  Men 
Can't  put  fair  Alice's  head  on  agen !" 

"  Well-a-day !  well-a-day !     Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray ; 
"Why  really  I  hardly  know  what  to  say : — 
Foul  sin,  I  trow,  a  fair  Ladye  to  slay 
Because  she's  perhaps  been  a  little  too  gay. 
— Monk  must  chant  and  Nun  must  pray ; 
For  each  mass  they  sing,  and  each  prayer  they  say. 

For  a  year  and  a  day,     Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray 
A  fair  rose-noble  must  duly  pay ! 
So  may  his  qualms  of  conscience  cease, 
And  the  soul  of  Dame  Alice  may  rest  in  peace !" 

"  Now  pardon.  Holy  Father,  I  crave ! 

0  Holy  Father,  pardon  and  grace ! 

No  power  could  save     That  paramour  knave ; 

1  left  him,  I  wot,  in  evil  case ! 

There,  'midst  the  slain    Upon  Ascalon  plain, 
Unburied,  I  trow,  doth  his  body  remain ; 
His  legs  lie  here,  and  his  arms  lie  there, 
And  his  head  lies — I  can't  tell  your  Holiness  where  !'* 

"  Now  out  and  alas,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray ! 
Foul  sin  it  were,  thou  doughty  Knight, 

To  hack  and  to  hew     A  champion  true 
Of  Holy  Church  in  such  pitiful  plight ! 
Foul  sin  her  warriors  so  to  slay. 
When  they're  scarcer  and  scarcer  every  day ! 
— A  chantry  fair.     And  of  Monks  a  pair, 
To  pray  for  his  soul  for  ever  and  aye. 
Thou  must  duly  endow,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray, 
And  fourteen  marks  by  the  year  must  thou  pay 

For  plenty  of  lights     To  burn  there  o'  nights — 


326  THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE. 

None  of  your  rascally  '  dips/  but  sound, 

Round  tenpenny  moulds  of  four  to  the  pound ! — 

And  a  shirt  of  the  roughest  and  coarsest  hair 

For  a  year  and  a  day,  Sir  Ingoldsby,  wear ! 

So  may  your  qualms  of  conscience  cease. 

And  the  soul  of  the  Soldier  shall  rest  in  peace  I" 

"  Now  nay,  Holy  Father,  now  nay,  now  nay  1 

Less  penance  may  serve,"  quoth  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray. 

"  No  champion  free     Of  the  Cross  was  he ; 
No  belted  Baron  of  high  degree ; 

No  Knight  nor  Squire    Did  there  expire ; 
He  was,  I  trow,  but  a  barefooted  Friar ! 
And  the  Abbot  of  Abingdon  long  may  wait 
With  his  monks  around  him,  and  early  and  late 
May  look  from  loophole,  and  turret,  and  gate — 
He  hath  lost  his  Prior,  his  Prior  his  pate !" 

"Now  Thunder  and  turf!"  Pope  Gregory  said. 

And  his  hair  raised  his  triple  crown  right  off  his  head — 

"  Now  Thunder  and  turf !  and  out  and  alas ! 

A  horrible  thing  has  come  to  pass ! 

What !  cut  off  the  head  of  a  reverend  Prior, 

And  say  he  was  'only  (!!!)  a  barefooted  Friar!' — 

What  Baron  or  Squire,     Or  Knight  of  the  shire. 
Is  half  so  good  as  a  holy  Friar  ? 

0  turpissime  !     Vir  nequissime  f 
Sceleratissime  ! — quissime  ! — issime  I 
Never,  I  trow,  have  the  Servi  servorum 

Had  before  'era     Such  a  breach  of  decorum, 
Such  a  gross  violation  of  morum  bonorum, 
And  won't  have  again  scecula  sceculorumf — 

Come  hither  to  me.     My  Cardinals  three. 

My  Bishops  in  partibus,     Masters  in  Artibus, 

Hither  to  me,  A.B.  and  D.D., 

Doctors  and  Proctors  of  every  degree. 
Go  fetch  me  a  book ! — go  fetch  me  a  bell 
As  big  as  a  dustman's ! — and  a  candle  as  well ! — 
I'll  send  him — where  good  manners  won't  let  me  tell !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  PALESTINE.  327 

— "  Pardon  and  grace ! — now  pardon  and  grace !" 
— Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  fell  flat  on  his  face- 
"  Med  culpd! — in  sooth  I'm  in  pitiful  case. 
Peceavi!  peccavi! — I've  done  very  wrong! 
But  my  heart  it  is  stout,  and  ray  arm  it  is  strong, 
And  I'll  fight  for  Holy  Church  all  the  day  long ; 
And  the  Ingoldsby  lands  are  broad  and  fair, 

And  they're  here,  and  they're  there,     And  I  can't  tell  you 
where, 
And  Holy  Church  shall  come  in  for  her  share !" 

Pope  Gregory  paused,  and  he  sat  himself  down, 
And  he  somewhat  relaxed  his  terrible  frown, 
And  his  Cardinals  three  they  picked  up  his  crown. 

"  Now  if  it  be  so  that  you  own  you've  been  wrong, 
And  your  heart  is  so  stout,  and  your  arm  is  so  strong, 
And  you  really  will  fight  like  a  trump  all  day  long ; 
If  the  Ingoldsby  lands  do  lie  here  and  there. 
And  Holy  Church  shall  come  in  for  her  share, — 

Why,  my  Cardinals  three, 

You'll  agree     With  me 

That  it  gives  a  new  turn  to  the  whole  affair, 

And  I  think  that  the  Penitent  need  not  despair ! 

— If  it  be  so,  as  you  seem  to  say, 

Kise  up,  rise  up,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray 

"An  Abbey  so  fair  Sir  Bray  shall  found, 
Whose  innermost  wall's  encircling  bound 
Shall  take  in  a  couple  of  acres  of  ground ; 
And  there  in  that  Abbey,  all  the  year  round, 
A  full  choir  of  Monks,  and  a  full  choir  of  Nuns, 
Shall  live  upon  cabbage  and  hot-cross  buns. 

And  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray,     Without  delay, 

Shall  hie  him  again     To  Ascalon  plain. 
And  gather  the  bones  of  the  foully  slain. 
And  shall  place  said  bones,  with  all  possible  care, 
In  an  elegant  shrine  in  his  Abbey  so  fair ; 


328  THE  INGOLDSBT  PENANCE. 

And  plenty  of  lights     Shall  be  there  o'  nights : 
None  of  your  rascally  '  dips,'  but  sound, 
Best  superfine  wax-wicks,  four  to  the  pound ; 

And  Monk  and  Nun    Shall  pray,  each  one, 
For  the  soul  of  the  Prior  of  Abingdon ! 
And  Sir  lugoldsby  Bray,  so  bold  and  so  brave, 
Never  shall  wash  himself,  comb,  or  shave, 

Nor  adorn  his  body.     Nor  drink  gin  toddy, 

Nor  indulge  in  a  pipe, —     But  shall  dine  upon  tripe, 
And  blackberries  gathered  before  they  are  ripe, 
And  for  ever  abhor,  renounce,  and  abjure 
Rum,  hollands,  and  brandy,  wine,  punch,  and  liqueur." 

(Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray     Here  gave  way 
To  a  feeling  which  prompted  a  word  profane, 
But  he  swallowed  it  down,  by  an  effort,  again. 
And  his  Holiness  luckily  fancied  his  gulp  a 
Mere  repetition  of  0  med  culpdl) 

"  Thrice  three  times  upon  Candlemas  day, 
Between  Vespers  and  Compline,  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray 
Shall  run  round  the  Abbey  as  best  he  may. 

Subjecting  his  back     To  thump  and  to  thwack. 
Well  and  truly  laid  on  by  a  barefooted  Friar 
With  a  stout  cat-o'-ninetails  of  whip-cord  and  wire ; 
And  nor  he  nor  his  heir*     Shall  take,  use,  or  bear 
Any  more,  from  this  day.     The  surname  of  Bray, 
As  being  dishonored  ;  but  all  issue  male  he  has 
Shall,  with  himself,  go  henceforth  by  an  alias/ 
So  his  qualms  of  conscience  at  length  may  cease. 
And  Page,  Dame,  and  Prior  shall  rest  in  peace  I'* 

Sir  Ingoldsby  (now  no  longer  Bray) 
Is  off  like  a  shot  away  and  away, 

Over  the  brine    To  far  Palestine, 
To  rummage  and  hunt  over  Ascalon  plain 
For  the  unburied  bones  of  his  victim  slain. 

*  His  brother  Reginald,  it  would  seem  by  the  pedigree,  disregarded  this  prohibition. 


A   LEGEND    OF  PALESTINE.  329 


"  Look  out,  my  Squire,     Look  higher  and  uigher, 
Look  out  for  the  corpse  of  a  barefooted  Friar ! 
And  pick  up  the  arms  and  the  legs  of  the  dead, 
And  pick  up  his  body,  and  pick  up  his  head  I" 


FYTTE   III. 

Ingoldsby  Abbey  is  fair  to  see, — 

It  hath  manors  a  dozen,  and  royalties  three. 

With  right  of  free  warren  (whatever  that  be)  ; 

Rich  pastures  in  front,  and  green  woods  in  the  rear, 

All  in  full  leaf  at  the  right  time  of  year ; 

About  Christmas,  or  so,  they  fall  into  the  sear, 

And  the  prospect,  of  course,  becomes  rather  more  drear ; 

But  it's  really  delightful  in  spring  time, — and  near 

The  great  gate  Father  Thames  rolls  sun-bright  and  clear ; 

Cobham  woods  to  the  right, — on  the  opposite  shore 

Laindon  Hills  in  the  distance,  ten  miles  off  or  more ; 

Then  you've  Milton  and  Gravesend  behind, — and  before 

You  can  see  almost  all  the  way  down  to  the  Nore.* 

So  charming  a  spot     It's  rarely  one's  lot 
To  see,  and  when  seen  it's  as  rarely  forgot. 

Yes,  Ingoldsby  Abbey  is  fair  to  see. 

And  its  Monks  and  its  Nuns  are  fifty  and  three, 

And  there  they  all  stand  each  in  their  degree, 

Drawn  up  in  the  front  of  their  sacred  abode. 

Two  by  two  in  their  regular  mode. 

While  a  funeral  comes  down  the  Rochester  road. 

Palmers  twelve  from  a  foreign  strand, 
Cockle  in  hat,  and  staff  in  hand. 
Come  marching  in  pairs,  a  holy  band ! 


*Alas!  one  might  almost  say  that  of  this  sacred  and  once  splendid  edifice,  ptricnint 
etiam  ruince.  An  elderly  gentleman,  however,  of  ecclesiastLcal  cut,  who  oscillates  he- 
tween  the  Garrick  Club  and  the  Falcon  in  Gravesend,  and  is  said  by  the  host  to  be  a 
"  foreigneering  bishop,"  does  not  scruple  to  identify  the  ruins  still  to  be  seen  by  the 
side  of  the  high  Dover  road,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  below  the  town,  with  those  of  the 
haunted  Sacellum.  The  general  features  of  the  landscape  certainly  correspond,  and 
tradition  as  certainly  countenances  his  conjecture. 


330  THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE. 

Little  boys  twelve,  dressed  all  in  white, 
Each  with  his  brazen  censer  bright, 
And  singing  away  with  all  their  might, 
Follow  the  Palmers — a  goodly  sight ; 

Next,  high  in  air    Twelve  Yeomen  bear 
On  their  sturdy  necks,  with  a  good  deal  of  care, 
A  patent  sarcophagus  firmly  reared 
Of  Spanish  mahogany  (not  veneered), 
And  behind  walks  a  Knight  with  a  very  long  beard. 

Close  by  his  side     Is  a  Friar,  supplied 
With  a  stout  cat-o'-ninetails  of  tough  cow-hide. 

While  all  sorts  of  queer  men     Bring  up  the  rear — Men- 
at-arms,  Nigger  captives,  and  Bow-men,  and  Spear-men. 

It  boots  not  to  tell    What  you'll  guess  very  well, 
How  some  sang  the  requiem,  some  tolled  the  bell ; 

Suffice  it  to  say,     'Twas  on  Candlemas  day 
The  procession  I  speak  about  reached  the  Sacellum; 

And  in  lieu  of  a  supper.     The  Knight  on  his  crupper 
Received  the  first  taste  of  the  Father's  flagellum; 

That,  as  chronicles  tell.     He  continued  to  dwell 
All  the  rest  of  his  days  in  the  Abbey  he'd  founded. 
By  the  pious  of  both  sexes  ever  surrounded. 
And,  partaking  the  fare  of  the  Monks  and  the  Nuns, 
Ate  the  cabbage  alone,  without  touching  the  buns ; 
— That  year  after  year,  having  run  round  the  Quad 
With  his  back,  as  enjoined  him,  exposed  to  the  rod. 
Having  not  only  kissed  it,  but  blessed  it  and  thanked  it,  he 
Died,  as  all  thought,  in  the  odor  of  sanctity ; 
When,  strange  to  relate, — and  you'll  hardly  believe 
AVhat  I'm  going  to  tell  you, — next  Candlemas  eve 
The  Monks  and  the  Nuns  in  the  dead  of  the  night 
Tumble,  all  of  them,  out  of  their  beds  in  affright. 

Alarmed  by  the  bawls,  and  the  calls,  and  the  squalls 
Of  some  one  who  seemed  running  all  round  the  walls ! 

Looking  out,  soon     By  the  light  of  the  moon 
There  appears  most  distinctly  to  ev'ry  one's  view. 
And  making,  as  seems  to  them,  all  this  ado. 
The  form  of  a  Knight  with  a  beard  like  a  Jew, 


A   LEGEND    OF  PALESTINE.  331 

As  black  as  if  steeped  in  that  "  Matchless"  of  Hunt's, 
And  so  bushy  it  would  not  disgrace  Mr.  Muutz ; 
A  barefooted  Friar  stands  behind  him,  and  shakes 
A  flagellum  whose  lashes  appear  to  be  snakes  ; 
While,  more  terrible  still,  the  astounded  beholders 
Perceive  the  said  Friar  has  no  head  on  his  shoulders, 

But  is  holding  his  pate     In  his  left  hand,  out  straight, 
As  if  by  a  closer  inspection  to  find 
Where  to  get  the  best  cut  at  his  victim  behind. 
With  the  aid  of  a  small  "  bull's-eye  lantern," — as  placed 
By  our  own  New  Police, — in  a  belt  round  his  waist. 

All  gaze  with  surprise.     Scarce  believing  their  eyes, 
When  the  Knight  makes  a  start  like  a  race-horse,  and  flies 
From  his  headless  tormentor,  repeating  his  cries ; 
In  vain, — for  the  Friar  to  his  skirts  closely  sticks, 
"  Running  after  him" — so  said  the  Abbot — "  like  Bricks !" 

Thrice  three  times  did  the  phantom  Knight 
Course  round  the  Abbey  as  best  he  might, 
Bethwacked  and  besmacked  by  the  headless  Sprite, 
While  his  shrieks  so  piercing  made  all  hearts  thrill ; 
Then  a  whoop  and  a  halloo, — and  all  was  still ! 

Ingoldsby  Abbey  has  passed  away, 

And  at  this  time  of  day     One  can  hardly  survey 
Any  traces  or  track,  save  a  few  ruins,  gray 
With  age,  and  fast  mouldering  into  decay, 
Of  the  structure  once  built  by  Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray ; 
But  still  there  are  many  folks  living  who  say 
That  on  every  Candlemas  eve  the  Knight, 

Accoutred  and  dight     In  his  armor  bright. 
With  his  thick  black  beard,  and  the  clerical  Sprite, 
With  his  head  in  his  hand,  and  his  lantern  alight, 
Run  round  the  spot  where  the  old  Abbey  stood, 
And  are  seen  in  the  neighboring  glebe-land  and  wood ; 
More  especially  still  if  it's  stormy  and  windy. 
You  may  hear  them  for  miles  kicking  up  their  wild  shindy ; 

And  that  once,  in  a  gale     Of  wind,  sleet,  and  hail, 
They  frightened  the  horses  and  upset  the  mail. 


332  THE  INGOLDSBY  PENANCE. 

What  'tis  breaks  the  rest     Of  these  souls  unblest 
Would  now  be  a  thing  rather  hard  to  be  guessed ; 
Though  some  say  the  Squire,  on  his  death-bed,  confessed 

That  on  Ascalon  j^lain.     When  the  bones  of  the  slain 
Were  collected  that  day,  and  packed  up  in  a  chest 

Calked  and  made  water-tight 

By  command  of  the  Knight, 
Though  the  legs  and  the  arms  they'd  got  all  pretty  right, 
And  the  body  itself  in  a  decentish  plight. 
Yet  the  Friar's  pericranium  was  nowhere  in  sight ; 
So,  to  save  themselves  trouble,  they  picked  up  instead, 
And  popped  on  the  shoulders,  a  Saracen's  head ! 
Thus  the  Knight  in  the  terms  of  his  penance  had  failed, 
And  the  Pope's  absolution  of  course  nought  availed. 


Now  though  this  might  be.     It  don't  seem  to  agree 
With  one  thing  which,  I  own,  is  a  poser  to  me, — 
I  mean,  as  the  miracles  wrought  at  the  shrine 
Containing  the  bones  brought  from  far  Palestine 
Were  so  great  and  notorious,  'tis  hard  to  combine 
This  fact  with  the  reason  these  people  assign, 
Or  suppose  that  the  head  of  the  murdered  Divine 
Could  be  aught  but  what  YanJiees  would  call  "  genume." 
'Tis  a  very  nice  question  ;  but  be't  as  it  may. 
The  Ghost  of  Sir  Ingoldsby  (ci-devant  Bray), 
It  is  boldly  affirmed  by  the  folks  great  and  small 
About  Milton,  and  Chalk,  and  around  Cobham  Hall, 
Still  on  Candlemas  day  haunts  the  old  ruined  wall, 
And  that  many  have  seen  him,  and  more  heard  him  squall. 
So  I  think,  when  the  facts  of  the  case  you  recall. 
My  inference,  reader,  you'll  feirly  forestall — 

Viz.,  that,  spite  of  the  hope     Held  out  by  the  Pope, 
Sir  Ingoldsby  Bray  was  d d  after  all ! 

MORAL. 

Foot-pages,  and  Servants  of  ev'ry  degree. 
In  livery  or  out  of  it,  listen  to  me ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  PALESTINE.  333 

See  what  comes  of  lyiug !  don't  join  in  a  league 
To  humbug  your  master,  or  aid  an  intrigue ! 

Ladies ! — married  and  single,  from  this  understand 

How  foolish  it  is  to  send  letters  by  hand ! 

Don't  stand  for  the  sake  of  a  penny, — but  when  you 

've  a  billet  to  send     To  a  lover  or  friend, 
Put  it  into  the  post,  and  don't  cheat  the  revenue  I 

Reverend  gentlemen  ! — you  who  are  given  to  roam, 
Don't  keep  up  a  soft  correspondence  at  home! 
But  while  you're  abroad  lead  respectable  lives ; 
Love  your    neighbors,   and   welcome, — but  don't  love    their 

wives ! 
And,  as  bricklayers  cry  from  the  tiles  and  the  leads 
When  they're  shovelling  the  snow  off,  "  Take  care  op  your 
HEADS  !" 

Knights ! — whose  hearts  are  so  stout,  and  whose  arms  are  so 

strong, 
Learn, — to  twist  a  wife's  neck  is  decidedly  w^rong ! 
If  your  servants  offend  you,  or  give  themselves  airs, 
Rebuke  them — but  mildly — don't  kick  them  down  stairs ! 
To  "  Poor  Richard's  "  homely  old  proverb  attend, 
"  If  you  want  matters  well  managed,  Go  ! — if  not.  Send  /" 
A  servant's  too  often  a  negligent  elf; 
— If  it's  business  of  consequence,  do  it  yourself  ! 

The  state  of  society  seldom  requires 
People  now  to  bring  home  with  them  unburied  Frjars, 
But  they  sometimes  do  bring  home  an  inmate  for  life ; 
Now — don't  do  that  by  proxy  ! — but  choose  your  own  wife ! 
For  think  how  annoying  'twould  be,  when  you're  wed. 

To  find  in  your  bed.     On  the  pillow,  instead 
Of  the  sweet  face  you  look  for — A  Saracen's  Head  ! 


334  NETLEY  ABBEY. 

Alas  for  Ingoldsby  Abbey ! — Alas  that  one  should  have  to 
say 

Perierunt  etiam  Riiinae !  * 

Its  very  Ruins  now  are  tiny ! 

There  is  a  something  in  the  very  sight  of  an  old  Abbey — 
family  associations  apart — as  Ossian  says  (or  Macpherson  for 
him),  "  pleasing  yet  mournful  to  the  soul !"  nor  could  I  ever 
yet  gaze  on  the  roofless  walls  and  ivy-clad  towers  of  one  of 
these  venerable  monuments  of  the  piety  of  bygone  days  with- 
out something  very  like  an  unbidden  tear  rising  to  dim  the 
prospect.  Something  of  this,  I  think,  I  have  already  hinted 
in  recording  our  picnic  with  the  Seaforths  at  Bolsover.  Since 
then  I  have  paid  a  visit  to  the  beautiful  remains  of  what  once 
was  Netley,  and  never  experienced  the  sensation  to  which  I 
have  alluded,  in  a  stronger  degree ; — if  its  character  was  some- 
what changed  before  we  parted,  it  is  not  my  fault.  Still,  be 
the  drawbacks  what  they  may,  I  shall  ever  mark  with  a  white 
stone  the  day  on  which  I  for  the  first  time  beheld  the  time- 
worn  cloisters  of 


A  LEGEND  OF  HAMPSHIKE. 

I  SAW  thee,  Netley,  as  the  sun 
Aci'oss  the  western  wave 
Was  sinking  slow,     And  a  golden  glow 
To  thy  roofless  towers  he  gave ; 

And  the  ivy  sheen.     With  its  mantle  of  green, 
That  wrapt  thy  walls  around. 

Shone  lovelily  bright.     In  that  glorious  light, 
And  I  felt  'twas  holy  ground. 

Then  I  thought  of  the  ancient  time — 
The  days  of  the  Monks  of  old, — 


A   LEGEND    OF  HAMPSniRE.  335 

When  to  Matin  and  Vesper,  and  Compline  chime, 

The  loud  Hosanna  roll'd, 
And  thy  courts  and  "  long-drawn  aisles  "  among 
Swelled  the  full  tide  of  sacred  song. 

And  then  a  vision  passed 

Across  my  mental  eye  ;* 
And  silver  shrines,  and  shaven  crowns, 
And  delicate  Ladies,  in  bombazeen  gowns 

And  long  white  veils,  went  by ; 
Stiff,  and  staid,  and  solemn,  and  sad, — 
— But  one,  methought,  winked  at  the  Gardener-lad  I 

Then  came  the  Abbot,  with  mitre  and  ring, 
And  pastoral  staff,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
And  a  Monk  with  a  book,  and  a  Monk  with  a  bell, 

And  "  dear  little  souls,"     In  clean  linen  stoles. 
Swinging  their  censers,  and  making  a  smell. — 
And  see  where  the  Choir-master  walks  in  the  rear, 

With  front  severe.     And  brow  austere. 
Now  and  then  pinching  a  little  boy's  ear 
When  he  chants  the  responses  too  late  or  too  soon, 
Or  his  Do,  Re,  Mi,  Fa,  Sol,  La's  not  quite  in  tune. 

(Then,  you  know,     They'd  a  "  movable  Do," 
Not  a  fixed  one  as  now — and  of  course  never  knew 

How  to  set  up  a  musical  Hullabaloo.) 
It  was,  in  sooth,  a  comely  sight, 
And  I  welcomed  the  vision  with  pure  delight. 

But  then  "  a  change  came  o'er" 
My  spirit — a  change  of  fear — 
That  gorgeous  scene  I  beheld  no  more. 
But  deep  beneath  the  basement  floor 
A  dungeon  dark  and  drear ! 
And  there  was  an  ugly  hole  in  the  wall — 
For  an  oven  too  big, — for  a  cellar  too  small ! 

And  mortar  and  bricks     All  ready  to  fix, 
And  I  said,  "  Here's  a  Nun  has  been  playing  some  tricks ! — 

*  "  In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio  '."-^Hamlet. 


336  NETLEY  ABBEY. 

That  horrible  hole ! — it  seems  to  say, 
'  I'lii  a  grave  that  gaps  for  a  living  prey !' " 
And  my  heart  grew  sick,  and  my  brow  grew  sad — 
And  I  thought  of  that  wink  at  the  Gardener-lad. 
Ah  me !  ah  me ! — 'tis  sad  to  think 
That  Maiden's  eye,  which  was  made  to  wink, 
Should  here  be  compelled  to  grow  blear,  and  blink, 

Or  be  closed  for  aye    In  this  kind  of  way. 
Shut  out  for  ever  from  wholesome  day. 
Walled  up  in  a  hole  with  never  a  chink, 
No  light, — no  air, — no  victuals, — no  drink  ! 

And  that  Maiden's  lip,     Which  was  made  to  sip, 
Should  here  grow  withered  and  dry  as  a  chip ! 
— That  wandering  glance  and  furtive  kiss, 
Exceedingly  naughty,  and  wrong,  I  wis. 
Should  yet  be  considered  so  much  amiss 
As  to  call  for  a  sentence  severe  as  this ! — 
And  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  heard  with  a  sigh 
The  poor  lone  victim's  stifled  cry,* 

"  Well,  I  can't  understand     How  any  man's  hand 
Could  wall  up  that  hole  in  a  Christian  land ! 

Why  a  Mussulman  Turk     Would  recoil   from  the 
work, 
And  though,  when  his  ladies  run  after  the  fellows,  he 
Stands  not  on  trifles,  if  maddened  by  jealousy, 
Its  objects,  I'm  sure,  would  declare,  could  they  speak, 
In  their  Georgian,  Circassian,  or  Turkish,  or  Greek, 
*  When  all's  said  and  done,  far  better  it  was  for  us. 

Tied  back  to  back.     And  sewn  up  in  a  sack. 
To  be  pitched  neck-and-heels  from  a  boat  in  the  Bosphorus !" 
— Oh !  a  Saint  'twould  vex     To  think  that  the  sex 
Should  be  treated  no  better  than  Combe's  double  X ! 
Sure  some  one  might  run  to  the  Abbess,  and  tell  her 
A  much  better  method  of  stocking  her  cellar." 


*  About  the  middle  of  the  last  century  a  human  skeleton  was  discovered  in  a  recess 
in  the  wall  among  the  ruins  of  Netley.  On  examination  the  bones  were  pronounced 
to  be  those  of  a  female.  Teste  James  Harrison,  a  youthful  but  intelligent  cab-driver 
of  Southampton,  who  "  well  remembers  to  have  heard  his  grandmother  say  that 
'  Somebody  told  her  so.' " 


A   LEGEND    OF  II A  MPS  III  RE.  337 

If  ever  on  polluted  walls 

Heaven's  red  right  arm  in  vengeance  falls, 

If  e'er  its  justice  wraps  in  flame 

The  black  abodes  of  sin  and  shame, 

That  justice,  in  its  own  good  time. 

Shall  visit  for  so  foul  a  crime, 

Ope  desolation's  floodgate  wide, 

And  blast  thee,  Netley,  in  thy  pride ! 

Lo  where  it  comes !—  the  tempest  lowers, — 

It  bursts  on  thy  devoted  towers ; 

Ruthless  Tudor's  bloated  form 

Rides  on  the  blast,  and  guides  the  storm  ; 

I  hear  the  sacrilegious  cry, 

"  Down  with  the  nests,  and  the  rooks  will  fly  !'* 

Down !  down  they  come — a  fearful  fall — 
Arch,  and  pillar,  and  roof- tree,  and  all, 
Stained  pane,  and  sculptured  stone. 
There  they  lie  on  the  greensward  strown — 
Mouldering  walls  remain  alone ! 

Shaven  crown,     Bombazeeu  gown, 
Mitre,  and  Crozier,  and  all  are  flown ! 

And  yet,  fair  Netley,  as  I  gaze 

Upon  that  gray  and  mouldering  wall, 

The  glories  of  thy  palmy  days 
Its  very  stones  recall ! — 

They  "  come  like  shadows,  so  depart" — 

I  see  thee  as  thou  wert — and  art — 

Sublime  in  ruin ! — grand  in  woe ! 

Lone  refuge  of  the  owl  and  bat ; 
No  voice  awakes  thine  echoes  now ! 

No  sound — Good  Gracious ! — what  was  that  ? 
Was  it  the  moan,     The  parting  groan 
Of  her  who  died  foi-lorn  and  alone. 
Embedded  in  mortar,  and  bricks,  and  stone  ? — 
22 


338  NETLEY  ABBEY. 

Full  and  clear  Ou  my  listening  ear 
It  comes — again — near,  and  more  near — 
Why,  'zooks !  it's  the  popping  of  Ginger  Beer ! 

I  rush  to  the  door —     I  tread  the  floor, 
By  Abbots  and  Abbesses  trodden  before. 
In  the  good  old  chivalric  days  of  yore, 

And  what   see  I   there? —     In   a   rush-bottomed 
chair 
A  hag,  surrounded  by  crockery-ware, 
Vending,  in  cups,  to  the  credulous  throng, 
A  nasty  decoction  miscalled  Souchong, — 
And  a  squeaking  fiddle  and  "  wry-necked  fife" 
Are  screeching  away  for  the  life ! — for  the  life ! — 
Danced  to  by  "All  the  World  and  his  Wife." 
Tag,  Rag,  and  Bobtail,  are  caj^ering  there. 
Worse  scene,  I  ween,  than  Bartlemy  Fair ! — 
Two  or  three  Chimney-sweeps,  two  or  three  Clowns, 
Playing  at  "  pitch  and  toss,"  sport  their  "  Browns ;" 
Two  or  three  damsels,  frank  and  free, 
Are  ogling,  and  smiling,  and  sipping  Bohea. 
Parties  below,  and  parties  above. 
Some  making  tea,  and  some  making  love. 

Then  the  "  toot— toot— toot "  ^ 

Of  that  vile  demi-flute, — 

The  detestable  din  Of  that  cracked  violin, 
And  the  odors  of  "  stout,"  and  tobacco,  and  gin. 
— "  Dear   me !"   I   exclaimed,   "  what   a   place   to   be 

in!" 
And  I  said  to  the  person  who  drove  my  "  shay  " 
(A  very  intelligent  man,  by  the  way), 
"  This,  all  things  considered,  is  rather  too  gay ! 
It  don't  suit  my  humor, — so  take  me  away ! 
Dancing !  and  drinking ! — cigar  and  song ! 
If  not  profanation,  it's  '  coming  it  strong,' 
And  I  really  consider  it  all  very  wrong. — 
— Pray,  to  whom  does  this  property  now  belong  ?" 

— He  paused,  and  said.     Scratching  his  head, 
"  Why,  I  really  do  think  he's  a  little  to  blame. 
But  I  can't  say  I  knows  the  Gentleman's  name !" 


FRAGMENT.  339 

"  Well — well !"  quoth  I,     As  I  heaved  a  sigh, 
And  a  tear-drop  fell  from  my  twinkling  eye, 
"  My  vastly  good  man,  as  I  scarcely  doubt 
That  some  day  or  other  you'll  find  it  out, 

Should  he  come  in  your  way, 

Or  ride  in  your  '  shay ' 

(As  perhaps  he  may).     Be  so  good  as  to  say 
That  a  Visitor,  whom  you  drove  over  one  day, 
Was  exceedingly  angry,  and  very  much  scandalized, 
Finding  these  beautiful  ruins  so  Vandalized, 
And  thus  of  their  owner  to  speak  began. 
As  he  ordered  you  home  in  haste, 

'No    DOUBT   he's   a   very    RESPECTABLE   MAN, 

But — I  can't  say  much  for  his  taste.'  "* 


My  very  excellent  brother-in-law,  Seaforth,  late  of  the 
Bombay  Fencibles  (lucky  dog  to  have  quitted  the  service 
before  this  shocking  Afghan  business !),  seems  to  have  been 
even  more  forcibly  affected  on  the  evening  when  he  so  narrowly 
escaped  being  locked  in  at  Westminster  Abbey,  and  when — 
but  let  him  describe  his  own  feelings,  as  he  has  done,  indeed, 
in  the  subjoined 

^Fragment. 

A  FEELING  sad  came  o'er  me  as  I  trod  the  sacred  ground 

Where  Tudors  and  Plantagenets  were  lying  all  around : 

I  stepped  with  noiseless  foot,  as  though  the  sound  of  mortal 

tread 
Might  burst  the  bands  of  the  dreamless  sleep  that  wraps  the 

mighty  dead ! 

*  Adieu,  Monsieur  Gil  Bias ;  je  vous  souhaite  toutes  sortes  de  prosperitfis,  avec  un 
peu  plus  de  gout  \—GU  Bias. 


340  4  FRAGMENT. 

The  slanting  ray   of  the  evening  sun   shone  through  those 

cloisters  pale, 
With  fitful  light  on  regal  vest,  and  warrior's  sculptured  mail ; 
As  from  the  stained  and  storied  pane  it  danced  with  quivering 

gleam, 
Each  cold  and  prostrate  form  below  seemed  quickening  in  the 

beam. 

Now,  sinking  low,  no  more  was  heard  the  organ's  solemn  swell, 
And  faint  upon  the  listening  ear  the  last  Hosanna  fell : 
It  died — and  not  a  breath  did  stir ; — above  each  knightly  stall, 
Unmoved,  the  bannered  blazonry  hung  waveless  as  a  pall. 

I   stood   alone! — a  living   thing   'midst   those   that  were    no 

more — 
I  thought  on  ages  past  and  gone — the  glorious  deeds  of  yore — 
On  Edward's  sable  panoply,  on  Cressy's  tented  plain, 
The  fatal  roses  twined  at  length — on  great  Eliza's  reign. 

I  thought  on  Naseby — Marston  Moor — on  Worc'ster's  "  crown- 
ing fight ;" 

When  on  mine   ear  a  sound   there  fell — it   chilled  me  with 
aflfright. 

As  thus  in  low,  unearthly  tones  I  heard  a  voice  begin, 

— "This  here's  the  Cap  of  Giniral  Monk! — Sir!   please  put 
summut  in !" 

Ccetera  desiderantur. 


Dan 

If  not  v^*^^*^'^  nervous  system  was  powerfully  acted  upon 
And  I  reai"^  I  can  well  believe.  The  circumstance  brings 
— Pray,  to  w^  a  fearful  adventure — or  what  might  perhaps 
— He  pau.  -of  my  own  in  early  life  while  grinding 
"  WliJ'  I  f ®^l^y  ry.  A  sharp  touch  of  the  gout,  and  the 
But  I  can't  say  I  ^^^^  ^^  ^  c^man  spring  in  St.  Peter's 


\ 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  ''DARK  ENTRY:'  341 

Street,  then  in  much  repute,  had  induced  my  Uncle  to  take  up 
a  temporary  abode  within  the  Cathedral  "  Precinct."  It  was 
on  one  of  those  temporary  visits  which  I  was  sometimes 
permitted  to  pay  on  half-holidays  that,  in  self  defence,  I  had 
to  recount  the  following  true  narrative.  I  may  add  that  this 
tradition  is  not  yet  worn  out:  a  small  maimed  figure  of  a 
female  in  a  sitting  position,  and  holding  something  like  a 
frying-pan  in  her  hand,  may  still  be  seen  on  the  covered 
passage  which  crosses  the  Brick  Walk,  and  adjoins  the  house 
belonging  to  the  sixth  prebendal  stall. — There  are  those  whom 
I  know  who  would,  even  yet,  hesitate  at  threading  the  Dark 
Entry  on  a  Friday — "not"  of  course  "that  they  believe  one 
word  about" 


Nell  orooft. 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  "  DAEK  ENT^Y." 


THE   king's  scholar's  STORY. 

"  From  the  '  Brick  Walk '  branches  oflf  to  the  right  a  long  narrow  vaulted  passage, 
paved  with  flagstones,  vulgarly  known  by  the  name  of  the  '  Dark  Entry.'  Its  eastern 
extremity  communicates  with  the  cloisters,  crypt,  and,  by  a  private  staircase,  with  the 
interior  of  the  cathedral.  On  the  west  it  opens  into  the  'Green-Court,'  forming  a 
communication  between  it  and  the  portion  of  the  'Precinct'  called  the  'Oaks.'" — A 
Walk  round  Canterbury,  etc. 

[Scene — A  back  parlor  in  Mr.  John  Ingoldsby's  house  in  the  Precinct. — A  blazing  fire. 
— Mine  Uncle  is  seated  in  a  high-backed  easy  chair,  twirling  his  thumbs,  and  con- 
templating his  list  shoe. — Little  Tom,  the  "King's  Scholar,"  on  a  stool  opposite. — 
Mrs.  John  Ingoldsby  at  the  table,  busily  employed  in  manufacturing  a  cabbage- 
rose  (cauliflower?)  in  many-colored  worsteds. — Mine  Uncle's  meditations  are  in- 
terrupted by  the  French  clock  on  the  mantle-piece. — He  prologizeth  with  vivacity.] 

"  ~l    TARK !   listen,  Mrs.  Ingoldsby, — the   clock  is  striking 

-I — L         nine ! 
Give  Master  Tom  another  cake,  and  half  a  glass  of  wine. 
And  ring  the  bell  for  Jenny  Smith,  and  bid  her  bring  his  coat, 
And  a  warm  bandana  handkerchief  to  tie  around  his  throat. 


342  NELL    COOK. 

"  And  bid  them  go  the  nearest  way,  for  Mr.  Birch  has  said 
That  nine  o'clock's  the  hour  he'll  have  his  boarders  all  in  bed  ; 
And  well  we  know  when  little  boys  their  coming  home  delay, 
They  often  seem  to  walk  and  sit  uneasily  next  day !" 

— "  Now  nay,  dear  Uncle  Ingoldsby,  now  send  me  not,  I  pray, 
Back  by  that  Entry  dark,  for  that  you  know's  the  nearest  way  ; 
I  dread  that  Entry  dark  with  Jane  alone  at  such  an  hour, 
It  fears   me  quite — it's  Friday  night! — and  then  Nell  Cook 
hath  power !" 

"And  who's  Nell  Cook,  thou   silly  child?— and  what's  Nell 

Cook  to  thee, 
That  thou  shouldst  dread  at  night  to  tread  with  Jane  that 

dark  entree?" 
— "  Nay,  list  and  hear,  mine  Uncle  dear !  such  fearsome  things 

they  tell 
Of  Nelly  Cook  that  few  may  brook  at  night  to  meet  with  Nell ! 

"It  was  in  bluff  King  Harry's  days, — and  Monks  and  Friars 

were  then, 
You  know,  dear  Uncle  Ingoldsby,  a  sort  of  Clergymen. 
They'd  coarse  stuff  gowns,  and   shaven  crowns — no  shirts, — 

and  no  cravats, 
And  a  cord  was  placed  about  their  waist — they  had  no  shovel 

hats! 

"  It  was  in  bluff  King  Harry's  days,  while  yet  he  went  to  shrift, 
And  long  before  he  stamped  and  swore,  and  cut  the  Pope 

adrift ; 
There  lived  a  portly  Canon  then,  a  sage  and  learned  clerk  ; 
He  had,  I  trow,  a  goodly  house,  fast  by  that  Entry  dark ! 

"  The  Canon  was  a  portly  man — of  Latin  and  of  Greek, 

And  learned  lore,  he  had  good  store, — yet  health  was  on  his 

cheek. 
The  Priory  fare  was  scant  and  spare,  the  bread  was  made 

of  rye, 
The  beer  was  weak,  yet  he  was  sleek — he  had  a  merry  eye. 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  ''DARK  ENTRY."  343 

"  For  though  within  the  Priory  the  fare  was  scant  and  thin, 
The  Canon's  house  it  stood  without; — he  kept  good  cheer  within  ; 
Unto  the  best  he  prest  each  guest  witli  free  and  jovial  h)ok, 
And  Ellen  Bean  ruled  his  cuisine, — he  called  her  '  Nelly  Cook.' 

"For  soups,  and   stews,  and  choice  ragouts,  Nell   Cook  was 

famous  still ! 
She'd  make  them  even  of  old  shoes,  she  had  such  wondrous 

skill : 
Her  manchets  fine  were  quite  divine,  her  cakes  were  nicely 

browned, 
Her  boiled  an'd  roast  they  were  the  boast  of  all  the  "  Precinct " 

round. 

"And  Nelly  was  a  comely  lass,  but  calm  and  staid  her  air, 
And  earthward  bent  her  modest  look — yet  was  she  passing  faij- ; 
And  though  her  gown  was  russet  brown,  their  heads  grave 

people  shook  : 
— They  all  agreed  no  Clerk  had  need  of  such  a  pretty  Cook. 

"  One  day — 'twas  on  a  Whitsun  eve — there  came  a  coach  and 

four ; — 
It  passed   the    'Green-Court'   gate,   and    stopped   before   the 

Canon's  door ; 
The  travel  stain  on  wheel  and  rein  bespoke  a  weary  way ; 
Each  panting  steed  relaxed  its  speed — out  stepped  a  Lady  gay. 

" '  Now  welcome !   welcome !   dearest  Niece,'   the   Canon  then 

did  cry, 
And  to  his  breast  the  Lady  pressed, — he  had  a  merry  eye  ; 
'Now   welcome!    welcome!    dearest   Niece, — in   sooth   thou'rt 

welcome  here ; 
'Tis  many  a  day  since  we  have  met : — how  fares  my  Brother 

dear?'— 

"  '  Now  thanks,  my  loving  Uncle,'  that  Lady  gay  replied : 
'  Gramercy  for  thy  benison !' — then  '  Out,  alas  !'  she  sighed  ; 
'  My  father  dear  he  is  not  near, — he  seeks  the  Spanish  Main ; 
He  prays  thee  give  me  shelter  here  till  he  return  again !' — 


344  NELL    COOK. 

" '  Now  welcome !  welcome !  dearest  Niece ;  come  lay  thy  man- 
tle by.' 
The  Canon  kissed  her  ruby  lip, — he  had  a  merry  eye ; 
But  Nelly  Cook  askew  did  look, — it  came  into  her  mind 
They  were  a  little  less  than  '  kin,'  and  rather  more  than  '  kind.' 


"  Three  weeks  are  gone  and  over — full  three  weeks  and  a  day — 
Yet  still  within  the  Canon's  house  doth  dwell  that  Lady  gay ; 
On  capons  fine  they  daily  dine,  rich  cates  and  sauces  rare, 
And  they  quaff  good  store  of  Bordeaux  wine, — so  dainty  is 
their  fare. 

"  And  fine  upon  the  virginal  is  that  gay  Lady's  touch. 

And  sweet  her  voice  unto  the  lute,  you'll  scarce  hear  any  such ; 

But  is  it '  0  Sandissima '  she  sings  in  dulcet  tone  ? 

Or  'Angels  ever  bright  and  fair  "t — Ah  no!  it's  'Bobbing  Joan' I 


"  The  Canon's  house  is  lofty  and  spacious  to  the  view ; 
The  Canon's  cell  is  ordered  well — yet  Nelly  looks  askew ; 
The  Lady's  bower  is  in  the  tower — yet  Nelly  shakes  her  head ; 
She  hides  the  poker  and  the  tongs  in  that  gay  Lady's  bed ! 


"  Six  weeks  were  gone  and  over — full  six  weeks  and  a  day — 
Yet  in  that  bed  the  poker  and  the  tongs  unheeded  lay ! 
From  which  I  fear  it's  pretty  clear  that  Lady  rest  had  none, — 
Or  if  she  slept  in  any  bed,  it  was  not  in  her  own. 

"  But  where  that  Lady  passed  her  night  I  may  not  well  divine,— > 
Perhaps  in  pious  orisons  at  good  St.  Thomas'  shrine, 
And  for  her  father  far  away  breathed  tender  vows  and  true ; 
It  may  be  so — I  cannot  say — but  Nelly  looked  askew. 

"  And  still  at  night,  by  fair  moonlight,  when  all  were  locked  in 

sleep. 
She'd  listen  at  the  Canon's  door,  she'd  through  the  keyhole 

peep ; 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  "DARK  ENTRY."  845 

I  know  not  what  she  heard  or  saw,  but  fury  filled  her  eye : 

— She  bought  some  nasty  doctor's-stufF,  and  she  put  it  in  a  pie ! 


"  It  was  a  glorious  summer's  eve ;  with  beams  of  rosy  red 
The  Sun  went  down — all  Nature  smiled — but  Nelly  shook  her 

head. 
Full  softly  to  the  balmy  breeze  rung  out  the  Vesper  bell ; 
— Upon  the  Canon's  startled  ear  it  sounded  like  a  knell ! 

"  *  Now  here's  to  thee,  mine  Uncle !  a  health  I  drink  to  thee ! 
Now  pledge  me  back  in  Sherris  sack,  or  a  cup  of  Malvoisie !' — 
The  Canon  sighed,  but,  rousing,  cried,  '  I  answer  to  thy  call, 

And  a  Warden-pie's  a  dainty  dish  to  mortify  withal !' 

•J 

"  'Tis   early  dawn ;   the  matin  chime  rings   out  for  morning 

prayer, 
And  Prior  and  Friar  is  in  his  stall — the  Canon  is  not  there ; 
Nor  in  the  small  Refect'ry  hall  nor  cloistered  walk  is  he ; 
All  wonder — and  the  Sacristan  says,  '  Lauk-a-daisy  me !' 

"  They've  searched  the  aisles  and  Baptist'ry — they've  searched 

above,  around — 
The  'Sermon  House,'  the  'Audit  Room' — the  Canon  is  not 

found. 
They  only  find  that  pretty  cook  concocting  a  raffout; 
They  ask  her  where  her  master  is — but  Nelly  looks  askew. 

"They  call  for  crowbars — 'jimmies'  is  the  modern  name  they 

bear; 
They  burst  through  lock,  and  bolt,  and  bar — but  what  a  right 

is  there ! — 
The  Canon's  head  lies  on  the  bed — his  Niece  lies  on  the  floor ! 
— They  are  as  dead  as  any  nail  that  is  in  any  door ! 

"  The  livid  spot  is  on  his  breast,  the  spot  is  on  his  back ; 

His  portly  form,  no  longer  warm  with  life,  is  swoln  and  black  ! — 

The  livid  spot  is  on  her  cheek,  it's  on  her  neck  of  snow, 

And  the  Prior  sighs,  and  sadly  cries, '  Well— here's  a  pretty  Go !' 


346  NELL    COOK. 

"All  at  the  silent  hour  of  night  a  bell  is  heard  to  toll, 
A  knell  is  rung,  a  requiem''^  sung  as  for  a  sinful  soul ; 
And  there's  a  grave  within  the  Nave — it's  dark,  and  deep,  and 

wide — 
And  they  bury  there  a  Lady  fair,  and  a  Canon  by  her  side ! 

"  An  Uncle — so  'tis  whispered  now  throughout  the  sacred  fane — 
And  a  Niece,  whose  father's  far  away  upon  the  Spanish  Main  ; 
The  Sacristan  he  says  no  word  that  indicates  a  doubt, 
But  he  puts  his  thumb  unto  his  nose,  and  spreads  his  fingers 
out! 

"  And  where  doth  tarry  Nelly  Cook,  that  staid  and  comely  lass  ? 
Ay,  where? — for  ne'er  from  forth  that  door  was  Nelly  known 

to  pass. 
Her  coif  and  gown  of  russet  brown  were  lost  unto  the  view, 
And  if  you  mentioned  Nelly's  name,  the  Monks  all  looked 

askew ! 


"  There  is  a  heavy  paving-stone  fast  by  the  Canon's  door, 
Of  granite  gray,  and  it  may  weigh  some  half  a  ton  or  more. 
And  it  is  laid  deep  in  the  shade  within  that  Entry  dark. 
Where   sun  or  moonbeam   never   played,  or  e'en  one  starry 
spark. 

"  That  heavy  granite  stone  was  moved  that  night,  'twas  darkly 

said. 
And  the  mortar  round  its  sides  next  morn  seemed  fresh  and 

newly  laid ; 
But  what  within  the  narrow  vault  beneath  that  stone  doth  lie, 
Or  if  that  there  be  vault  or  no,  I  cannot  tell — not  I ! 

"  But  I've  been  told  that  moan  and  groan,  and  fearful  wail  and 

shriek. 
Came  from  beneath  that  paving-stone  for  nearly  half  a  week  ; 
For  three  long  days  and  three  long  nights  came  forth  those 

sounds  of  fear ; 
Then  all  was  o'er — they  never  more  fell  on  the  listening  ear. 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  ''^  DARK  ENTRY."  347 

"A  hundred  years  have  gone  and  past  since  last  Nell  Cook  was 

seen, 
When,  worn  by  use,  that  stone  got  loose,  and  they  went  and 

told  the  Dean. — 
— Says  the  Dean,  says  he, '  My  Masons  three !  now  haste  and 

fix  it  tight ;' 
And  the  Masons  three  peeped  down  to  see,  and  they  saw  a 

fearsome  sight. 

*'  Beneath    that    heavy    paving-stone    a    shocking    hole   they 

found — 
It  was  not  more  than  twelve  feet  deep,  and  barely  twelve  feet 

round ; 
— A  fleshless,  sapless  skeleton  lay  in  that  horrid  well ! 
But  who  the  deuce  'twas  put  it  there  those  Masons  could  n(^ 

tell. 

"And  near  this  fleshless  skeleton  a  pitcher  small  did  lie, 
And  a  mouldy  piece  of  '  kissing  crust,'  as  from  a  Warden-pie ! 
And  Doctor  Jones  declared  the  bones  were  female  bones,  and, 

'  Zooks ! 
I   should   not  be  surprised,'   said   he,   *  if  these  were  Nelly 

Cook's !' 

"  It  was  in  good  Dean  Bargrave's  days,  if  I  remember  right. 
Those  fleshless  bones  beneath  the  stones  these  Masons  brought 

to  light; 
And  you  may  well  in  the  'Dean's  Chapelle'  Dean  Bargrave's 

portrait  view, 
*Who   died   one  night,'   says   old   Tom  Wright,  'in  Sixteen 

Forty -two !'  .,, 

"And   so   two   hundred   years   have   passed   since   that  these 

Masons  three, 
With  curious  looks,  did  set  Nell  Cook's  unquiet  spirit  free ; 
That   granite   stone   had   kept   her  down  till   then — so   some 

suppose, — 
— Some  spread  their  fingers  out,  and  put  their  thumbs  unto 

their  nose. 


348  NELL   COOK. 

"But  one  thing's  clear — that  all  the  year,  on  every  Friday 

night, 
Throughout  that  Entry  dark  doth  roam  Nell  Cook's  unquiet 

Hprite : 
On  Friday  was  that  Warden-pie  all  by  that  Canon  tried ; 
On  Friday  died  he,  and  that  tidy  Lady  by  his  side ! 

"And  though  two  hundred  years  have  flown,  Nell  Cook  doth 

still  pursue 
Her  weary  walk,  and  they  who  cross  her  path  the  deed  may 

rue; 
Her  fatal  breath  is  fell  as  death !  the  Simoom's  blast  is  not 
More  dire  (a  wind  in  Africa  that  blows  uucommou  hot). 

**  But  all  unlike  the  Simoom's  blast,  her  breath  is  deadly  cold. 
Delivering  quivering,  shivering  shocks  unto  both  young  and 

old, 
And  whoso  in  that  Entry  dark  doth  feel  that  fatal  breath. 
He  ever  dies  within  the  year  some  dire  untimely  death ! 

"  No  matter  who — no  matter  what  condition,  age,  or  sex, 

But  some  '  get  shot,'  and  some  '  get  drowned,'  and  some  '  get ' 

broken  necks ; 
Some  '  get  run  over '  by  a  coach  ; — and  one  beyond  the  seas 
'  Got '  scraped  to  death  with  oyster-shells  among  the  Caribbees ! 

"Those  Masons  three  who  set  her  free  fell  first! — it  is  averred 
That  two  were  hanged  on  Tyburn  tree  for  murdering  of  the 

third : 
Charles  Storey,*  too,  his  friend  who  slew,  had  ne'er,  if  truth 

they  tell, 
Been  gibbeted  on  Chatham  Downs,  had  they  not  met  with 

Nell! 

*  In  or  about  the  year  1780,  a  worthy  of  this  name  cut  the  throat  of  a  journeyman 
paper-maker,  was  executed  on  Oaten  Hill,  and  afterwards  hung  in  chains  near  tlie 
scene  of  his  crime.  It  was  to  this  place,  as  being  the  extreme  boundary  of  the  City's 
jurisdiction,  that  the  worthy  Mayor  with  so  much  naivete  wished  to  escort  Archbishop 
M  *  *  *  on  one  of  his  progresses,  when  he  begged  to  have  the  honor  of  "  attending  his 
Grace  as  far  as  the  gallows." 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  "DARK  ENTRY:'  349 

"  Theu  send  me  not,  mine  Uncle  dear,  oh !    send  me  not,  I 

P'-ay, 
Back  through  that  Entry  dark  to-night,  but  round  some  other 

way! 
I  will  not  be  a  truant  boy,  but  good,  and  mind  my  book. 
For  Heaven  forefend  that  ever  I  foregather  with  Nell  Cook !" 


The  class  was  called  at  morning  tide,  and  Master  Tom  was 

there ; 
He  looked  askew,  and  did  eschew  both  stool,  and  bench,  and 

chair. 
He  did  not  talk,  he  did  not  walk,  the  tear  was  in  his  eye, — 
He  had  not  e'en  that  sad  resource,  to  sit  him  down  and  cry. 

Hence  little  boys  may  learn,  when  they  from  school  go  out  to 

dine. 
They  should  not  deal  in  rigmarole,  but  still  be  back  by  nine ; 
For  if,  when  they've  their  great  coat  on,  they  pause  before  they 

part, 
To  tell   a  long   and   prosy  tale, — perchance  their  own  may 

smart. 

MORAL. 

— A  few  remarks  to  learned  Clerks  in  country  and  in  town — 
Don't    keep   a   pretty   serving-maid,   though    clad    in   russet 

brown ! — 
Don't  let  your  Niece  sing  "  Bobbing  Joan !" — don't,  with  a 

merry  eye. 
Hob-nob  in  Sack  and  Malvoisie, — and   don't   eat  too   much 


pie 


!f 


And  oh !  beware  that  Entry  dark, — Especially  at  night, — 

And  don't  go  there  with  Jenny  Smith  all  by  the  pale  moon- 
light !— 

So  bless  the  Queen  and  her  Koyal  Weans, — And  the  Prince 
whose  hand  she  took, — 

And  bless  us  all,  both  great  and  small, — and  keep  us  from 
Nell  Cook ! 


350  NURSERY  REMINISCENCES. 


Kind,  good-hearted,  gouty  Uncle  John !  how  well  I  remem- 
ber all  the  kindness  and  affection  which  my  mischievous  jDro- 
pensities  so  ill  repaid — his  bright  blue  coat  and  resplendent 
gilt  buttons — his  "frosty  pow"  si  bien  poudre — his  little  quill- 
like pigtail !  Of  all  my  praiseworthy  actions — they  were  "like 
angel  visits,  few  and  far  between" — the  never-failing  and 
munificent  rewarder ;  of  my  naughty  deeds — they  were  mul- 
titudinous as  the  sands  on  the  sea-shore — the  ever-ready 
palliator;  my  intercessor,  and  sometimes  even  my  defender 
against  punishment,  "  staying  harsh  justice  in  its  mid  career !" — 
Poor  Uncle  John !  he  will  ever  rank  among  the  dearest  of  my 


Nursetg  ^Reminiscences. 

I  REMEMBER,  I  remember, 
When  I  was  a  little  Boy, 
One  fine  morning  in  September 
Uncle  brought  me  home  a  toy. 

I  remember  how  he  patted 

Both  my  cheeks  in  kindliest  mood ; 
"  Then,"  said  he,  "  you  little  Fat-head, 

There's  a  top  because  you're  good." 

Grandmamma — a  shrewd  observer — 

I  remember  gazed  upon 
My  new  top,  and  said  with  fervor, 

"Oh !  how  kind  of  Uncle  John !" 

While  mamma,  my  form  caressing, — • 
In  her  eye  the  tear-drop  stood, — 

Read  me  this  fine  moral  lesson, 
"  See  what  comes  of  being  good !" 


NURSERY  REMINISCENCES.  351 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

On  a  wet  aud  wiudy  day, 
One  cold  morning  in  December, 

I  stole  out  and  went  to  play ; 

I  remember  Billy  Hawkins 

Came,  and  with  bis  pewter  squirt 
Squibbed  my  pantaloons  and  stockings 

Till  they  were  all  over  dirt ! 

To  my  mother  for  protection 

I  ran,  quaking  every  limb  : 
— She  exclaimed,  with  fond  affection, 

"Gracious  Goodness!  look  at  him/" 

Pa  cried,  when  he  saw  my  garment — 

'Twas  a  newly-purchased  dress — 
"  Oh  !  you  nasty  little  Wannent, 

How  came  you  in  such  a  mess  ?" 

Then  he  caught  me  by  the  collar — 

Cruel  only  to  be  kind — 
And,  to  my  exceeding  dolor. 

Gave  me — several  slaps  behind. 

Grandmamma,  while  yet  I  smarted, 

As  she  saw  my  evil  plight, 
Said — 'twas  rather  stony-hearted — 

"  Little  rascal !  sarve  him  right !" 

I  remember,  I  remember. 

From  that  sad  aud  solemn  day, 
Never  more  in  dark  December 

Did  I  venture  out  to  play. 

And  the  moral  which  they  taught,  I 

Well  remember ;  thus  they  said : — 
"  Little  Boys,  when  they  are  naughty, 

Must  be  whipped  and  sent  to  bed !" 


352  AUNT  FANNY. 

Poor  Uncle  John ! 

"  After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well," 

in  the  old  family  vault  in  Denton  chancel ;  and  dear  Aunt 
Fanny  too ! — the  latter  also  "  loo'd  me  weel,"  as  the  Scotch 
song  has  it ;  and  since  at  this  moment  I  am  in  a  most  soft  and 
sentimental  humor  ( — whisky  toddy  should  ever  be  made  by 
pouring  the  boiling  fluid — hotter  if  possible — upon  the  thinnest 
lemon-peel,  and  then, — but  everybody  knows  "what  then" — ), 
I  dedicate  the  following  "  True  History  "  to  my  beloved 

A  LEGEND  OF  A  SHIRT. 

Virginibus,  Puerisque  canto. — HoR. 
Old  Maids  aud  Bachelors  I  chant  to !— T.  I. 

I  SING  of  a  Shirt  that  never  was  new ! — 
In  the  course  of  the  year  Eighteen  Hundred  and  Two, 

Aunt  Fanny  began,     Upon  Grandmamma's  plan, 
To  make  one  for  me,  then  her  "  dear  little  man." 
At  the  epoch  I  speak  about,  I  was  between 

A  man  and  a  boy, —     A  hobble-de-hoy, 
A  fat  little  paunchy  concern  of  sixteen, 

Just  beginning  to  flirt     And  ogle, — so  pert, 
I'd  been  whipt  every  day  had  I  had  my  desert ; 
— And  Aunt  Fan  volunteered  to  make  me  a  shirt ! 

I've  said  she  began  it ; —    Some  unlucky  planet 
No  doubt  interfered ;  for,  before  she  and  Janet 
Completed  the  "  cutting  out,"  "  hemming,"  and  "  stitching," 
A  tall  Irish  footman  appeared  in  the  kitchen ; 

— This  took  off  the  maid.     And  I'm  sadly  afraid 
My  respected  Aunt  Fanny's  attention,  too,  strayed  ; 
For  about  the  same  period  a  gay  son  of  Mars, — 
Cornet  Jones  of  the  Tenth  (then  the  Prince's)  Hussars, 


A   LEGEND    OF  A    SHIRT.  353 

With  his  fine  dark  eyelashes,     And  finer  moustaches, 
And  the  ostrich  plume  worked  on  the  corps'  sabretasches 
(I  say  nought  of  the  gold-and-red  cord  of  the  sashes. 
Or  the  boots  far  above  the  Guards'  vile  spatterdashes), — 
So  eyed,  and  so  sighed,  and  so  lovingly  tried 
To  engage  her  whole  ear  as  he  lounged  by  her  side, 
Looking  down  on  the  i-est  with  such  dignified  pride, 

That  she  made  up  her  mind     She  should  certainly  find 
Cornet  Jones  at  her  feet,  whisp'ring  "Fan,  be  my  bride!" 
She  had  even  resolved  to  say  "  Yes,"  should  he  ask  it, 
— And  I — and  my  Shirt — were  both  left  in  the  basket. 


To  her  grief  and  dismay     She  discovered  one  day 
Cornet  Jones  of  the  Tenth  was  a  little  too  gay ; 
For,  besides  that  she  saw  him — he  could  not  say  nay — 
Wink  at  one  of  the  actresses  capering  away 
In  a  Spanish  bolero,  one  night  at  the  play. 
She  found  he'd  already  a  wife  at  Cambray, 
One  at  Paris — a  nymph  of  the  corps  de  ballet — 
And  a  third  down  in  Kent,  at  a  place  called  Foot's  Cray. 

He  was  "  viler  than  dirt !" —     Fanny  vowed  to  exert 
All  her  powers  to  forget  him — and  finish  my  Shirt. 

But  oh,  lack-a-day !     How  time  slips  away ! 
Who'd   have   thought   that  while  Cupid  was   playing  these 

tricks. 
Ten  years  had  elapsed,  and — I'd  turned  twenty-six ! 

"  I  care  not  a  whit, —     He's  not  grown  a  bit," 
Says  my  Aunt ;  "  it  will  still  be  a  very  good  fit." 

So  Janet  and  she,     Now  about  thirty-three 
(The  maid  had  been  jilted  by  Mr.  Magee"), 
Each  taking  one  end  of  "  the  Shirt"  on  her  knee. 
Again  began  working  with  hearty  good  will, 
"Felling  the  Seams"  and  "whipping  the  Frill,-" 
For,  twenty  years  since  though  the  Ruifle  had  vanished, 
A  Frill  like  a  fan  had  by  no  means  been  banished ; 
People  wore  them  at  playhouses,  parties,  and  churches. 
Like  overgrown  fins  of  overgrown  perches. 
23 


354  AUNT  FANNY. 

Now  then,  by  these  two  thus  laying  their  caps 
Together,  my  Shirt  had  been  finished,  perhaps, 
But  for  one  of  those  queer  little  three-cornered  straps. 
Which  the  ladies  call  "  Side-bits,"  that  sever  the  "  Flaps ;" 

Here  unlucky  Janet  Took  her  needle  and  ran  it 
Right  into  her  thumb,  and  cried  loudly,  "Ads  cuss  it! 
I've  spoiled  myself  now  by  that  'ere  nasty  Gusset !" 

For  a  month  to  come     Poor  dear  Janet's  thumb 
Was  in  that  sort  of  state  vulgar  people  call  "  Rum  ;" 

At  the  end  of  that  time,     A  youth,  still  in  his  prime, 
The  Doctor's  fat  Errand-boy, — just  such  a  dolt  as  is 
Kept  to  mix  draughts  and  spread  plasters  and  poultices, 
Who  a  bread-cataplasm  each  morning  had  carried  her, — 
Sighed,  ogled,  proposed,  was  accepted, — and  married  her ! 

Much  did  Aunt  Fan     Disapprove  of  the  plan : 
She  turned  up  her  dear  little  snub  at  "  the  Man  ;" 

She  "  could  not  believe  it," —     "  Could  scarcely  conceive  it 
Was  possible — What !  such  a  place — and  then  leave  it ! — 
And  all  for  a  '  Shrimp '  not  as  high  as  my  hat — 
A  little  contemptible  '  Shaver'  like  that. 
With  a  broad  pancake  face,  and  eyes  buried  in  fat !" 

For  her  part,  "  She  was  sure     She  could  never  endure 
A  lad  with  a  lisp,  and  a  leg  like  a  skewer ! 
Such  a  name  too  ('twas  Potts)  ! — and  so  nasty  a  trade ! — 
No,  no, — she  Avould  much  rather  die  an  old  maid ! 
He  a  husband,  indeed  ! — Well,  mine,  come  what  may  come, 
Sha'n't  look  like  a  blister,  and  smell  of  Guaiacum !" 

But  there !     She'd  "  declare     It  was  Janet's  affair — 

Chacun  a  son  gout;     As  she  baked  she  might  brew ; 
She  could  not  prevent  her — 'twas  no  use  in  trying  it — 
Oh  no — she  had  made  her  own  bed,  and  might  lie  in  it. 
They  '  repent  at  leisure  who  marry  at  random.' 
No  matter — De  gustibus  non  dlsputandum  !" 

Consoling  herself  with  this  choice  bit  of  Latin, 
Aunt  Fanny  resignedly  bought  some  white  satin, 


A   LEGEND    OF  A    SHFRT.  355 

And,  as  the  Soubrette     Was  a  very  great  pet 
After  all,  she  resolved  to  forgive  and  forget, 
And  sat  down  to  make  her  a  bridal  rosette, 
With  magnificent  bits  of  some  white-looking  metal 
Stuck  in,  here  and  there,  each  forming  a  petal. — 
— On  such  an  occasion  one  couldn't  feel  hurt, 
Of  course,  that  she  ceased  to  remember — my  Shirt ! 

Ten  years, — or  nigh, —     Had  again  gone  by, 
When  Fan  accidentally  casting  her  eye 
On  a  dirty  old  work-basket,  hung  up  on  high 
In  the  store-closet  where  herbs  were  put  by  to  dry, 
Took  it  down  to  explore  it — she  didn't  know  why. — 

Within,  a  pea-soup  colored  fragment  she  spied, 

Of  the  hue  of  a  November  fog  in  Cheapside, 

Or  a  bad  piece  of  gingerbread  spoilt  in  the  baking. 

— I  still  hear  her  cry, —     "  I  wish  I  may  die 
If  here  isn't  Tom's  Shirt,  that's  been  so  long  a-making ! 

My  gracious  me !     Well, — only  to  see ! 
I  declare  it's  as  yellow  as  yellow  can  be ! 
Why,  it  looks  as  though't  had  been  soaked  in  green  tea ! 

Dear  me,  did  you  ever  f —    But  come — 'twill  be  clever 
To  bring  matters  round  ;  so  I'll  do  my  endeavoi' — 
*  Better  late,'  says  an  excellent  proverb,  '  than  Never !' 
It  %8  stain'd,  to  be  sure  ;  but  '  grass-bleaching'  will  bring  it 
To  rights  'in  a  jiffy.' — We'll  wash  it,  and  wring  it; 

Or,  stay, — '  Hudson's  Liquor'     Will  do  it  still  quicker, 

And "     Here  the  new  maid  chimed  in,  "  Ma'am,  Salt  of 

Lemon 
Will  make  it,  in  no  time,  quite  fit  for  the  Gemman !" 
So  they  "  set  in  the  gathers," — the  large  round  the  collar, 
While  those  at  the  wristbands  of  course  were  much  smaller, — 
The  buttonholes  now  were  at  length  "  overcast ;" 
Then  a  button  itself  was  sewn  on — 'twas  the  last ! 

All's  done !     All's  won ! 
Never  under  the  sun 
Was  Shirt  so  late  finished — so  early  begun ! — 


366  AUNT  FANNY. 

— The  work  would  defy    The  most  critical  eye. 
It  was  "  bleached," — it  was  washed, — it  was  hung  out  to  dry, — 
It  was  marked  on  the  tail  with  a  T  and  an  I ! 

On  the  back  of  a  chair  it     Was  placed, — just  to  air  it, 
In  front  of  the  fire. — "  Tom  to-morrow  shall  wear  it !" 

—  0  ececa  mens  hominum! — Fanny,  good  soul, 

Left  her  charge  for  one  moment — but  one — a  vile  coal 

Bounced  out  from  the  grate,  and  set  fire  to  the  whole ! 


Had  it  been  Doctor  Arnott's  new  stove — not  a  grate : — 
Had  the  coal  been  a  "  Lord  Mayor's  coal," — viz.,  a  slate  ;- 

What  a  diflJerent  tale  had  I  had  to  relate ! 

And  Aunt  Fan — and  my  Shirt — been  superior  to  Fate ; — 
One  moment — no  more ! —    — Fan  opened  the  door ! 

The  draught  made  the  blaze  ten  times  worse  than  before ; 

And  Aunt  Fanny  sank  down — in  despair — on  the  floor ! 

You  may  fancy  perhaps  Agrippina's  amazement. 

When,  looking  one  fine  moonlight  night  from  her  casement. 

She  saw,  while  thus  gazing.     All  Rome  a-blazing. 
And,  losing  at  once  all  restraint  on  her  temper  or 
Feelings,  exclaimed,  "  Hang  that  Scamp  of  an  Emperor, 

Although  he's  my  son  ! —     — He  thinks  it  prime  fun, 
No  doubt ! — While  the  flames  are  demolishing  Rome, 
There's  my  Nero  a-fiddling  and  singing  '  Sweet  Home !'  " 
— Stay — I'm  really  not  sure  'twas  that  lady  who  said 
The  words  I've  put  down,  as  she  stepped  into  bed, — 
On  reflection,  I  rather  believe  she  was  dead ; 

But  e'en  when  at  College,  I     Fairly  acknowledge,  I 
Never  was  very  precise  in  Chronology ; 
So,  if  there's  an  error,  pray  set  down  as  mine  a 
Mistake  of  no  very  great  moment — in  fine,  a 
Mere  slip — 'twas  some  Fleb's  wife,  if  not  Agrippina. 

You  may  fancy  that  warrior,  so  stern  and  so  stony, 
Whom  thirty  years  since  we  all  used  to  call  Boney, 


/ 

A   LEGEND    OF  A    SHIRT.  357 

"When,  engaged  in  what  he  styled  "  fulfilling  his  destinies," 
He  led  his  rapscallions  across  the  Borystheues, 

And  made  up  his  mind     Snug  quartex-s  to  find 
In  Moscow,  against  the  catarrhs  and  the  coughs 
Which  are  apt  to  prevail  'mongst  the  "Owskis"  and  "Offs" 

At  a  time  of  the  year     When  your  nose  and  your  ear 
Are  by  no  means  so  safe  there  as  people's  are  here. 
Inasmuch  as  "  Jack  Frost,"  that  most  fearful  of  Bogles, 
Makes  folk  leave  their  cartilage  oft  in  their  "  fogies." 

You  may  fancy,  I  say,     That  same  Boney's  dismay. 

When  Count  Rostopchin     At  once  made  him  drop  chin, 
And  turn  up  his  eyes,  as  his  rappee  he  took, 
With  a  sort  of  mort-de-ma-vie  kind  of  look, 

On  perceiving  that  "  Swing,"    And  "  all  that  sort  of  thing," 
Was  at  work — that  he'd  just  lost  the  game  without  knowing  it: 
That  the  Kremlin  was  blazing — the  Russians  "  a-going  it," — 
Every  plug  in  the  place  frozen  hard  as  the  ground. 
And  the  deuce  of  a  Turn-cock  at  all  to  be  found ! 

You  may  fancy  King  Charles  at  some  Court  Fancy-Bali 

(The  date  we  may  fix    In  Sixteen  Sixty-six), 
In  the  room  built  by  Inigo  Jones  at  Whitehall, 
Whence  his  father,  the  Martyr  (as  such  mourned  by  all 
Who,  in  his,  wept  the  Law's  and  the  Monarchy's  fall), 
Stept  out  to  exchange  regal  robes  for  a  pall — 
You  may  fancy  King  Charles,  I  say,  stopping  the  brawl,* 
As  burst  on  his  sight  the  old  church  of  St.  Paul, 
By  the  light  of  its  flames,  now  beginning  to  crawl 
From  basement  to  buttress,  and  topping  its  wall — 
— You  may  fancy  old  Clarendon  making  a  call, 
And  stating  in  cold,  slow,  monotonous  drawl, 
"  Sire,  from  Pudding  Lane's  End,  close  by  Fishmongers'  Hall, 
To  Pye  Corner,  in  Smithfield,  there  is  not  a  stall 
There,  in  market  or  street, — not  a  house,  great  or  small. 
In  which  Knight  wields  his  falchion,  or  Cobbler  his  awl, 


*  Not  a  "  row,"  but  a  dance. 

"  The  brave  Lord  Keeper  led  the  brawls. 

The  seals  and  maces  danced  before  him." — GbaT. 

—And  truly  Sir  Christopher  danced  to  some  tune. 


358  AUNT  FANNY. 

But's  on  fire ! !" — You  may  fancy  the  general  squall 

And  bawl  as  they  all  call  for  wimple  and  shawl ! — 

— You  may  fancy  all  this — but  I  boldly  assert 

You  can't  fancy  Aunt  Fan — as  she  looked  on  MY  SHIRT ! ! 


Was't  Apelles  ?  or  Zeuxis  ? — I  think  'twas  Apelles, 

That  artist  of  old — I  declare  I  can't  tell  his 

Exact  patronymic — I  write  and  pronounce  ill 

These  Classical  names — whom  some  Grecian  Town-Council 

Employed, — I  believe,  by  command  of  the  Oracle, — 

To  produce  them  a  splendid  piece,  purely  historical. 

For  adorning  the  wall     Of  some  fane,  or  Guildhall, 
And  who  for  his  subject  determined  to  try  a 
Large  painting  in  oils  of  Miss  Iphigenia 

At  the  moment  her  Sire,     By  especial  desire 
Of  "that  Spalpeen,  O'Dysseus"  (see  Barney  Maguire), 

Has  resolved  to  devote    Her  beautiful  throat 
To  old  Chalcas's  knife,  and  her  limbs  to  th6  fire ; 
— An  act  which  we  moderns  by  no  means  admire, — 
An  off'ring,  'tis  true,  to  Jove,  Mars,  or  Apollo,  cost 
No  trifling  sum  in  those  days,  if  a  holocaust, — 
Still,  although  for  economy  we  should  condemn  none. 
In  an  ava^  avdpuv,  like  the  great  Agamemnon, 

To  give  up  to  slaughter     An  elegant  daughter, 
After  all  the  French,  Music,  and  Dancing  they'd  taught  her, 
And  Singing, — at  Heaven  knows  how  much  a  quarter, — 

In  lieu  of  a  Calf! —    It  was  too  bad  by  half! 
At  a  "  nigger"*  so  pitiful  who  would  not  laugh, 
And  turn  up  their  noses  at  one  who  could  find 
No  decenter  method  of  "  Raising  the  Wind"? 

No  doubt  but  he  might,     Without  any  great  Flight, 
Have  obtained  it  by  what  we  call  "  flying  a  kite," 
Or  on  mortgage — or  sure,  if  he  couldn't  so  do  it,  he 
Must  have  succeeded  "  by  way  of  annuity." 

But  there — it  appears.     His  crocodile  tears. 
His  "Ohs,"  and  his  "  Ahs,"  his  "  Oh  laws,"  and  "Oh  dears," 

*  Hibernicfe  "  nigger,"  qxuisi  "  niggard."     Vide  B.  Maguire  passim. 


A   LEGEND    OF  A    SHIRT.  359 

Were  all  thought  sincere, — so  in  painting  his  Victim 
The  Artist  was  splendid — but  could  not  depict  Hivi, 

His  features  and  phiz  awry     Showed  so  much  misery, 
And  so  like  a  dragon  he     Looked  in  his  agony, 
That  the  foiled  Painter  buried — despairing  to  gain  a 
Good  likeness — his  face  in  a  printed  Bandana. 
— Such  a  veil  is  best  thrown  o'er  one's  face  when  one's  hurt 
By  some  grief  which  no  power  can  repair  or  avert ! — 
— Such  a  veil  I  shall  throw  o'er  Aunt  Fan — and  My  Shirt ! 

MORAL. 

And  now  for  some  practical  hints  from  the  story 

Of  Aunt  Fan's  mishap,  which  I've  thus  laid  before  ye ; 

For,  if  rather  too  gay,     I  can  venture  to  say, 
A  fine  vein  of  morality  is  in  each  lay 
Of  my  primitive  Muse  the  distinguishing  trait ! — 

First  of  all — Don't  put  off  till  to-morrow  what  may, 

Without  inconvenience,  be  managed  to-day  ! 

That  golden  occasion  we  call  "  Opportunity  " 

Rarely's  neglected  by  man  with  impunity  ! 

And  the  "  Future,"  how  brightly  soe'er  by  Hood's  dupe  colored. 

Ne'er  may  afford     You  a  lost  chance  restored. 
Till  both  you,  and  YOUR  SHIRT,  are  grown  old  and  pea- 
soup  colored ! 

I  would  also  desire     You  to  guard  your  attire. 
Young  Ladies, — and  never  go  too  near  the  fire ! — 
— Depend  on't  there's  many  a  dear  little  Soul 
Has  found  that  a  Spark  is  as  bad  as  a  coal, 
And  "  in  her  best  petticoat  burnt  a  great  hole !" 
Last  of  all,  gentle  Reader,  don't  be  too  secure ! — 
Let  seeming  success  never  make  you  "  cock-sure !" 

But  beware ! — and  take  care.    When  all  things  look  fair, 
How  you  hang  your  Shirt  over  the  back  of  your  chair ! — 

— "  There's  many  a  slip     'Twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip !" 
Be  this  excellent  proverb,  then,  well  understood. 
And  Don't   halloo   before   you're   quite   out  of   the 
WOOD ! ! 


360  MISADVENTURES  AT  MARGATE. 

It  is  to  my  excellent  and  erudite  friend,  Simpkinson,  that  I 
am  indebted  for  his  graphic  description  of  the  well-known 
chalk-pit,  between  Acol  and  Minster,  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet, 
known  by  the  name  of  the  "Smuggler's  Leap."  The  substance 
of  the  true  history  attached  to  it  he  picked  up  while  visiting 
that  admirable  institution,  the  "Sea-bathing  Infirmary,"  of 
which  he  is  a  "  Life  Governor,"  and  enjoying  his  otmm  cum 
dignitate  last  summer  at  the  least  aristocratic  of  all  possible 
watering-places. 

Before  I  proceed  to  detail  it,  however,  I  cannot,  in  conscience, 
fail  to  bespeak  for  him  the  reader's  sympathy  in  one  of  his  own 


lEi^atrbcnturcg  at  IHargate. 

A    LEGEND    OF    JAEVIS'S    JETTY. 

MR.  SIMPKINSON  (loquitur). 

T  I IWAS  in  Margate  last  July,  I  walked  upon  the  pier, 

-L  I  saw  a  little  vulgar  Boy — I  said, "  What  make  you  here  ? 
The  gloom  upon  your  youthful  cheek  speaks  anything  but  joy ;" 
Again  I  said,  "  What  make  you  here,  you  little  vulgar  Boy  ?" 

He  ffiowned,  that  little  vulgar  Boy, — he  deemed  I  meant  to 

scoff — 
And  when  the  little  heart  is  big,  a  little  "  sets  it  off;" 
He  put  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  his  little  bosom  rose, — 
He  hjad  no  little  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  little  nose ! — 

"  Hark !  don't  you  hear,  my  little  man  ? — it's  striking  Nine," 

I  said, 
"  An  hour  when  all  good  little  boys  and  girls  should  be  in  bed. 
Eun  home  and  get  your  supper,  else  your  Ma  will  scold — Oh, 

fie! 
It's  very  wrong  indeed  for  little  boys  to  stand  and  cry !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  JARVIS'S  JETTY.  361 

The  tear-drop  in  his  little  eye  again  began  to  spring, 

His  bosom  throbbed  with  agony, — he  cried  like  anything ! 

I  stoojied,  and  thus  amidst  his  sobs  I  heard  him  murmur — 

"Ah! 
I  haven't  got  no  supper !  and  I  haven't  got  no  Ma ! ! — 

"  My  father  he  is  on  the  seas, — my  mother's  dead  and  gone ! 
And  I  am  here,  on  this  here  pier,  to  roam  the  world  alone ! 
I  have  not  had,  this  live-long  day,  one  drop  to  cheer  my  heart, 
Nor  '  broivii '  to  buy  a  bit  of  bread  with, — let  alone  a  tart. 

"  If  there's  a  soul  will  give  me  food,  or  find  me  in  employ, 
By  day  or  night,  then  blow  me  tight !"  (he  was  a  vulgar  Boy) ; 
"  And  now  I'm  here,  from  this  here  pier  it  is  my  fixed  intent 
To  jump,  as  Mister  Levi  did  from  off  the  Monu-ment !" 

"Cheer  up!  cheer  up!   my  little  man — cheer  up!"  I  kindly 

said, 
"  You  are  a  naughty  boy  to  take  such  things  into  your  head : 
If  you  should  jump  from  ofi"  the  pier,  you'd  surely  break  your 

legs, 
Perhaps  your  neck — then  Bogey 'd  have  you,  sure  as  eggs  are 

eggs! 

"  Come  home  with  me,  my  little  man,  come  home  with  me  and 

sup; 
My  landlady  is  Mrs.  Jones — we  must  not  keep  her  up, — 
There's  roast  potatoes  at  the  fire, — enough  for  me  and  you — 
Come  home,  you  little  vulgar  Boy — I  lodge  at  Number  2." 

I  took  him  home  to  Number  2,  the  house  beside  "The  Foy," 
I  bade  him  wipe  his  dirty  shoes, — that  little  vulgar  Boy, — 
And  then  I  said  to  Mistress  Jones,  the  kindest  of  her  sex, 
"  Pray  be  so  good  as  go  and  fetch  a  pint  of  double  X !" 

But  Mrs.  Jones  was  rather  cross,  she  made  a  little  noise. 
She  said  she  "  did  not  like  to  wait  on  little  vulgar  Boys,"— 
She  with  her  apron  wiped  the  plates,  and  as  she  rubbed  the  delf, 
Said  I  might  "  go  to  Jericho,  and  fetch  my  beer  myself!" 


362  MISADVENTURES  AT  MARGATE. 

I  did  not  go  to  Jericho — I  went  to  Mr.  Cobb* — 

I   changed   a   shilling   (which  in   town  the    people    call   "  a 

Bob")— 
It  was  not  so  much  for  myself  as  for  that  vulgar  child — 
And  I  said,  "A  pint  of   double   X,  and  please  to  di-aw  it 

mild  !"— 

When  I  came  back  I  gaze(J  about — I  gazed  on  stool  and  chair — 
I  could  not  see  my  little  friend — because  he  was  not  there ! 
I  peeped  beneath  the  table-cloth — beneath  the  sofa  too — 
I  said,  "  You  little  vulgar  Boy  !  why,  what's  become  of  you  ?" 

I  could  not  see  my  table-spoons — I  looked,  but  could  not  see 
The  little  fiddle-patterned  ones  I  use  when  I'm  at  tea ; 
— I  could  not  see  my  sugar-tongs — my  silver  watch — oh  dear ! 
I  know  'twas  on  the  mantlepiece  when  I  went  out  for  beer. 

I  could  not  see  my  Macintosh — it  was  not  to  be  seen ! — 

Nor  yet  my  best  white  beaver  hat,  broad-brimmed  and  lined 

with  green ; 
My  carpet-bag — my   cruet-stand,   that   holds   my   sauce    and 

soy,—  _ 
My  roast  potatoes ! — all  are  gone ! — and  so's  that  vulgar  Boy ! 

I  rang  the  bell  for  Mrs.  Jones,  for  she  was  down  below, 

**  Oh,  Mrs.  Jones !    what  do  you  think  ? — ain't  this  a  pretty 

go?— 
— That  horrid  little  vulgar  Boy  whom  I  brought  here  to-night, 
— He's  stolen  my  things  and  run  away!!" — Says  she,  "And 

sarve  you  right ! !" 


Next  morning  I  was  up  betimes — I  sent  the  Crier  round. 
All  with  his  bell  and  gold-laced  hat,  to  say  I'd  give  a  pound 

*  Qui  facit  per  alium,  facit  pee  se — Deem  not,  geutle  stranger,  that  Mr.  Cobb 
is  a  petty  dealer  and  chapman,  as  Mr.  Simpkinson  would  here  seem  to  imply.  He  is  a 
maker,  not  a  retailer,  of  stingo, — and  mighty  pretty  tipple  he  makes. 


A   LEGEND    OF  JARVIS'S  JETTY.  363 

To  find  that  little  vulgar  Boy,  who'd  gone  and  used  me  so ; 
But  when   the  Crier   cried,  "O  Yes!"  the  people  cried,  "O 

No!" 


I  went  to  "  Jarvis'  Landing-place,"  the  glory  of  the  town, 
There  was  a  common  sailor-man  a-walking  up  and  down ; 
I  told  my  tale — he  seemed  to  think  I'd  not  been  treated  well. 
And  called  me  "  Poor  old  Buffer  I" — what  that  means  I  cannot 
tell. 

That  Sailor-man  he  said  he'd  seen  that  morning  on  the  shore, 
A  son  of — something — 'twas  a  name  I'd  never  heard  before, 
A  little  "gallows-looking  chap" — dear   me!    what   could  he 

mean  ? — 
With  a  "  carpet-swab "  and  "  muckingtogs,"  and  a  hat  turned 

up  with  green. 

He  spoke  about  his  "  precious  eyes,"  and  said  he'd  seen  hira 

"  sheer," 
— It's  very  odd  that  Sailor-men  should  talk  so  very  queer — 
And  then  he  hitched  his  trousers  up,  as  is,  I'm  told,  their  use, 
— It's  very  odd  that  Sailor-men  should  wear  those  things  so 

loose. 

I  did  not  understand  him  well,  but  think  he  meant  to  say 
He'd  seen  that  little  vulgar  Boy,  that  morning,  swim  away 
In  Captain  Large's  Royal  George,  about  an  hour  before. 
And  they  were  now,  as  he  supposed,  "  souxewheres "  about  the 
Nore. 

A   landsman   said,   "I   hvig    the   chap — he's  been  upon   the 

Mill— 
And  'cause  he  gammons  so  the  flats,  ve  calls  him  Veeping 

Bill!" 
He  said,  "  he'd  done  me  wery  brown,"  and  nicely  "  stoived  the 

swag," 
— That's  French,  I  fancy,  for  a  hat — or  else  a  carpet-bag. 


364  MISADVENTURES  AT  MARGATE. 

I  went  and  told  the  constable  my  property  to  track ; 
He  asked  me  if  "  I  did  not  wish  that  I  might  get  it  back  ?" 
I  answered,  "  To  be  sure  I  do ! — it's  what  I'm  come  about." 
He  smiled  and  said,  "  Sir,  does  your  mother  know  that  you  are 
out?" 


Not  knowing  wljat  to  do,  I  thought  I'd  hasten  back  to  town, 
And  beg  our  own  Lord  Mayor  to  catch  the  Boy  who'd  "  done 

me  brown." 
His  Lordship  very  kindly  said  he'd  try  and  find  him  out. 
But  he  "  rather  thought  that  there  were  several  vulgar  boys 

about." 

He  sent  for  Mr.  Withair  then,  and  I  described  "  the  swag," 
My  Macintosh,  my  sugar-tongs,  my  spoons,  and  carpet-bag ; 
He   promised  that  the   New  Police   should   all  their  powers 

employ ! 
But  never  to  this  hour  have  I  beheld  that  vulgar  Boy ! 


MORAL. 

Remember,  then,  what  when  a  boy  I've  heard  my  Grandma 

tell, 
"Be  warned  in  time  by  others'  harm,  and  you  shall 

DO   FULL   well!" 

Don't  link   yourself  with  vulgar  folks  who've  got  no  fixed 

abode, 
Tell  lies,  use  naughty  words,  and  say  "  they  wish  they  may  be 
blowed!" 

Don't  take  too  much  of  double  X ! — and  don't  at  night  go  out 
To  fetch  your  beer  yourself,  but  make  the  pot-boy  bring  your 

stout ! 
And  when  you  go  to  Margate  next,  just  stop  and  ring  the 

bell, 
Give  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Jones,  and  say  I'm  pretty  well ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  Til  A  NET.  365 

And  now  for  his  Legend,  which,  if  the  facts  took  place 
rather  beyond  "  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant,"  are  yet 
well  known  to  have  occurred  in  the  neighborhood  "  once  ou  a 
time ;"  and  the  scene  of  them  will  be  readily  pointed  out  by 
any  one  of  the  fifty  intelligent  fly-drivers  who  ply  upon  the 
pier,  and  who  will  convey  you  safely  to  the  spot  for  a  guerdon 
which  they  term  "  three  bob." 

^i)e  Smuggler's  Heap. 

A  LEGEND  OF  THANET. 

"Kear  this  hamlet  (Acol)  is  a  long-disused  chalk-pit  of  formidable  depth,  known  by 
the  name  of  'The  Smuggler's  Leap.'  The  tradition  of  the  parish  runs  that  a  riding- 
officer  from  Sandwich,  called  Anthony  Gill,  lost  his  life  here  in  the  early  part  of  the 
present  (last)  century,  while  in  pursuit  of  a  smuggler.  A  fog  coming  on,  both  parties 
went  over  the  precipice.  The  smuggler's  horse  only,  it  is  said,  was  found  crushed 
beneath  its  rider.  The  spot  has,  of  course,  been  hauuttd  ever  since." — See  "Supplement 
to  Lewis's  History  of  Thanet,  by  the  Rev.  Samuel  Pegg,  A.M.,  Vicar  of  Gomersham."  W. 
Bristow,  Canterbury,  1796,  p.  127. 

THE  fire-flash  shines  from  Keculver  cliff, 
And  the  answering  light  burns  blue  in  the  skiff. 
And  there  they  stand.     That  smuggling  band, 
Some  in  the  water  and  some  on  the  sand. 
Ready  those  contraband  goods  to  land : 
The  night  is  dark,  they  are  silent  and  still, 
— At  the  head  of  the  party  is  Smuggler  Bill ! 

"  Now  lower  away !  come,  lower  away ! 

We  must  be  far  ere  the  dawn  of  the  day. 

If  Exciseman  Gill  should  get  scent  of  the  prey, 

And  should  come,  and  should  catch  us  here,  what  would  he  say? 

Come,  lower  away,  lads — ouce  on  the  hill. 

We'll  laugh,  ho !  ho !  at  Exciseman  Gill  I" 

The  cai'go's  lowered  from  the  dark  skiflT's  side, 
And  the  tow-line  drags  the  tubs  through  the  tide, 
No  trick  nor  flam.     But  your  real  Schiedam. 
"  Now  mount,  my  merry  men,  mount  and  ride !" 


366  THE  SMUGGLER'S  LEAP. 

Three  on  the  crupper  and  one  before, 

And  the  led-horse  laden  with  five  tubs  more ; 

But  the  rich  point- lace,     In  the  oilskin  case 
Of  proof  to  guard  its  contents  from  ill. 
The  "  prime  of  the  swag,"  is  with  Smuggler  Bill ! 

Merrily  now  in  a  goodly  row, 

Away  and  away  those  smugglers  go, 

And  they  laugh  at  Exciseman  Gill,  ho !  ho ! 

When  out  from  the  turn     Of  the  road  to  Heme 
Comes  Gill,  wide  awake  to  the  whole  concern ! 
Exciseman  Gill,  in  all  his  pride. 
With  his  Custom-house  officers  all  at  his  side! 
— They  were  called  Custom-house  officers  then, 
There  were  no  such  things  as  "  Preventive  men.'* 

Sauve  qui  pent !     That  lawless  crew, 
Away,  and  away,  and  away  they  flew ! 
Some  dropping  one  tub,  some  dropping  two ; — 
Some  gallop  this  way,  and  some  gallop}  that, 
Through  Fordwich  Level — o'er  Sandwich  Flat, 
Some  fly  that  way,  and  some  fly  this, 
Like  a  covey  of  birds  when  the  sportsmen  miss ; 

These  in  their  hurry     Make  for  Sturry, 
With  Custom-house  officers  close  in  their  rear, 
Down  Rushbourne  Lane,  and  so  by  Westbere, 

None  of  them  stopping.     But  shooting  and  popping, 
And  many  a  Custom-house  bullet  goes  slap 
Through  many  a  three-gallon  tub  like  a  tap, 

And  the  gin  spirts  out     And  squirts  all  about, 
And  many  a  heart  grew  sad  that  day 
That  so  much  good  liquor  was  so  thrown  away. 

Sauve  qui  peut !     That  lawless  crew, 
Away,  and  away,  and  away  they  flew ! 
Some  seek  Whitstable — some  Grove  Ferry, 
Spurring  and  whipping  like  madmen — very — 
For  the  life !  for  the  life !  they  ride !  they  ride  1 
And  the  Custom-house  officers  all  divide, 
And  they  gallop  on  after  them  far  and  wide ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  TUANET.  367 

All,  all,  save  one — Exciseman  Gill, — 
He  sticks  to  the  skirts  of  Smuggler  Bill  I 

Smuggler  Bill  is  six  feet  high, 

He  has  curling  locks,  and  a  roving  eye, 

He  has  a  tougue  and  he  has  a  smile 

Trained  the  female  heart  to  beguile. 

And  there  is  not  a  farmer's  wife  in  the  Isle, 

From  St.  Nicholas  quite    To  the  Foreland  Light, 
But  that  eye,  and  that  tougue,  and  tliat  smile  will  wheedle  her 
To  have  done  with  the  Grocer  and  make  him  her  Tea-dealer ; 
There  is  not  a  farmer  there  but  he  still 
Buys  gin  and  tobacco  from  Smuggler  Bill. 

Smuggler  Bill  rides  gallant  and  gay 
On  his  dapple-gray  mare,  away,  and  away, 
And  lie  pats  her  neck,  and  he  seems  to  say, 
"  Follow  who  will,  ride  after  who  may. 

In  sooth  he  had  need     Fodder  his  steed. 
In  lieu  of  Lent-corn,  with  a  Quicksilver  feed ; 
— Nor  oats,  nor  beans,  nor  the  best  of  old  hay. 
Will  make  him  a  match  for  my  own  dapple-gray ! 
Ho !  ho ! — ho !  ho !"  says  Smuggler  Bill — 
He  draws  out  a  flask  and  he  sips  his  fill. 
And  he  laughs  "  Ho !  ho !"  at  Exciseman  Gill. 

Down  Chislett  Lane,  so  free  and  so  fleet. 
Rides  Smuggler  Bill,  and  away  to  Up  Street ; 

Sarre  Bridge  is  won—     Bill  thinks  it  fun ; 
"  Ho  !  ho  !  the  old  tub-gauging  son  of  a  gun — 
His  wind  will  be  thick,  and  his  breeks  be  thin, 
Ere  a  race  like  this  he  may  hope  to  win !" 

Away,  away,     Goes  the  fleet  dapple-gray, 
Fresh  as  the  breeze  and  free  as  the  Avind, 
And  Exciseman  Gill  lags  far  behind. 
" I ivould  (five  viy  soul,"  quoth  Exciseman  Gill, 
"  For  a  nag  that  would  catch  that  Smuggler  Bill  I — 


368  THE  SMUGGLER'S  LEAP. 

No  matter  for  blood,  no  matter  for  bone, 
No  matter  for  color,  bay,  brown,  or  roan, 

So  I  had  but  one !"     A  voice  cried,  "  Done !" 
"  Ay,  dun,"  said  Exciseman  Gill,  and  he  spied 
A  Custom-house  officer  close  by  his  side. 
On  a  high-trotting  horse  with  a  dun-colored  hide. — 
"  Devil  take  me,"  again  quoth  Exciseman  Gill, 
"  If  I  had  but  that  horse,  I'd  have  Smuggler  Bill !" 

From  his  using  such  shocking  expressions,  it's  plain 
That  Exciseman  Gill  was  rather  profane. 

He  was,  it  is  true.     As  bad  as  a  Jew, 
A  sad  old  scoundrel  as  ever  you  knew. 
And  he  rode  in  his  stirruj^s  sixteen  stone  two. 
— He'd  just  uttered  the  words  which  I've  mentioned  to  you, 
When  his  horse  coming  slap  on  his  knees  with  him,  threw 
Him  head  over  heels,  and  away  he  flew, 
And  Exciseman  Gill  was  bruised  black  and  blue. 

When  he  arose     His  hands  and  his  clothes 
Were  as  filthy  as  could  be, — he'd  pitched  on  his  nose, 
And  rolled  over  and  over  again  in  the  mud, 
And  his  nose  and  his  chin  were  all  covered  with  blood ; 
Yet  he  screamed  with  passion,  "  I'd  rather  grill 
Than  not  come  up  with  that  Smuggler  Bill !" 
— "  Mount !  Mount !"  quoth  the  Custom-house  officer,  "  get 
On  the  back  of  my  Dun,  you'll  bother  him  yet. 
Your  words  are  plain,  though  they're  somewhat  rough, 
'Done  and  Done'  between  gentlemen's  always  enough! — 
I'll  lend  you  a  lift — there — you're  up  on  him — so, 
He's  a  rum  one  to  look  at — a  devil  to  go  !" 

Exciseman  Gill     Dashed  up  the  hill. 
And  marked  not,  so  eager  was  he  in  pursuit. 
The  queer  Custom-house  officer's  queer-looking  boot. 

Smuggler  Bill  rides  on  amain, 

He  slacks  not  girth  and  he  draws  not  rein, 

Yet  the  dapple-gray  mare  bounds  on  in  vain, 

For  nearer  now — and  he  hears  it  plain — 

Sounds  the  tramp  of  a  horse — "  'Tis  the  Ganger  again !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  THANET.  369 

Smuggler  Bill     Dashes  round  by  the  mill 
That  stands  near  the  road  upon  Monkton  Hill, — 

"  Now  speed, — now  speed,     My  dapple-gray  steed, 
Thou  ever,  my  dapple,  wert  good  at  need ! 
O'er  Monkton  Mead,  and  through  Minster  Level, 
We'll  baffle  him  yet,  be  he  ganger  or  devil ! 

For  Manston  Cave,  away !  away ! 
Now  speed  thee,  now  speed  thee,  my  good  dapple-gray  1 
It  shall  never  be  said  that  Smuggler  Bill 
Was  run  down  like  a  hare  by  Exciseman  Gill !' 
Manston  Cave  was  Bill's  abode ; 
A  mile  to  the  north  of  the  Rarasgate  road. 

(Of  late  they  say     It's  been  taken  away, 
That  is,  levelled  and  filled  up  with  chalk  and  clay, 
By  a  gentleman  there  of  the  name  of  Day.) 
Thither  he  urges  his  good  dapple-gray ; 

And  the  dapple-gray  steed.     Still  good  at  need, 
Though  her  chest  it  pants,  and  her  flanks  they  bleed, 
Dashes  along  at  the  top  of  her  speed ; 
But  nearer  and  nearer  Exciseman  Gill 
Cries,  "  Yield  thee !  now  yield  thee,  thou  Smuggler  BiU  I" 

Smuggler  Bill  he  looks  behind. 
And  he  sees  a  Dun  horse  come  swift  as  the  wind, 
And  his  nostrils  smoke  and  his  eyes  they  blaze 
Like  a  couple  of  lamps  on  a  yellow  post-chaise ! 

Every  shoe  he  has  got     Appears  red-hot ! 
And  sparks  round  his  ears  snap,  crackle,  and  play, 
And  his  tail  cocks  up  in  a  very  odd  way ; 
Every  hair  in  his  mane  seems  a  porcupine's  quill, 
And  there  on  his  back  sits  Exciseman  Gill, 
Crying,  "  Yield  thee !  now  yield  thee,  thou  Smuggler  Bill !" 

Smuggler  Bill  from  his  holster  drew 

A  large  horse-pistol,  of  which  he  had  two. 

Made  by  Nock ;     He  pulled  back  the  cock 
As  far  as  he  could  to  the  back  of  the  lock ; 
The  trigger  he  touched,  and  the  welkin  rang 
To  the  sound  of  the  weapon,  it  made  such  a  bang ; 
24 


370  THE  SMUGGLER'S  LEAP. 

Smuggler  Bill  ne'er  missed  hi^  Jiim, 

The  shot  told  true  ou  the  Dim — but  there  came 

From  the  hole  where  it  entered — not  blood,  but  flame ! 

— He  changed  his  plan,     And  fired  at  the  man ; 
But  his  second  horse-pistol  flashed  in  the  pan ! 
And  Exciseman  Gill,  with  a  hearty  good-will, 
Made  a  grab  at  the  collar  of  Smuggler  Bill. 

The  dapple-gray  mare  made  a  desperate  bound 

When  that  queer  Dun  horse  on  her  flank  she  found, — 

Alack !  and  alas !  on  what  dangerous  ground ! 

It's  enough  to  make  one's  flesh  to  creep, 

To  stand  on  that  fearful  verge,  and  peep 

Down  the  rugged  sides  so  dreadfully  steep, 

Where  the  chalk-hole  yawns  full  sixty  feet  deep, 

O'er  which  that  steed  took  that  desperate  leap ! 

It  was  so  dark  then  under  the  trees. 

No  horse  in  the  world  could  tell  chalk  from  cheese — 

Down  they  went — o'er  that  terrible  fall, — 

Horses,  Exciseman,  Smuggler,  and  all ! ! 

Below  were  found     Next  day  on  the  ground 
By  an  eldei'ly  gentleman  walking  his  round 
(I  wouldn't  have  seen  such  a  sight  for  a  pound). 
All  smashed  and  dashed,  three  mangled  corses. 
Two  of  them  human, — the  third  was  a  horse's — 
That  good  dapple-gray,  and  Exciseman  Gill 
Yet  grasping  the  collar  of  Smuggler  Bill ! 

But  where  was  the  Dun  ?  that  terrible  Dun  ? 
From  that  terrible  night  he  was  seen  by  none ! — 
There  are  some  people  think,  though  I  am  not  one, 
That  part  of  the  story  all  nonsense  and  fun, 

But  the  country-folks  there  One  and  all  declare. 
When  the  "  Crowner's  'Quest "  came  to  sit  on  the  pair. 
They  heard  a  loud  Horse-laugh  up  in  the  air ! — 

— If  in  one  of  the  trips     Of  the  steamboat  Eclipse 
You  should  go  down  to  Margate  to  look  at  the  ships, 
Or  to  take  what  the  bathing-room  people  call  "  Dips," 


The  shot  told  true  on  the  Dun— but  thi^rCoaiUfc' 
From  the  hole  where  it  entered — not  blood,  but  flame  ! 

p.  370. 


A   LEGEND    OF  THANET.  371 

You  may  hear  old  folks  talk     Of  that  quarry  of  chalk ; 
Or  go  over — it's  rather  too  far  for  a  walk, 
But  a  three-shilling  drive  will  give  you  a  peep 
At  that  fearful  chalk-pit,  so  awfully  deep, 
Which  is  called  to  this  moment  "  The  Smuggler's  Leap." 
Nay  more, — I  am  told,  on  a  moonshiny  night. 
If  you're  "  plucky,"  and  not  over  subject  to  fright, 
And  go  and  look  over  that  chalk-pit  white, 

You  may  see,  if  you  will,     The  Ghost  of  Old  Gill 
Grappling  the  Ghost  of  Smuggler  Bill, 
And  the  Ghost  of  the  dapple-gray  lying  between  'em. — 
I'm  told  so, — I  can't  say  I  know  one  who's  seen  'em  I 


MORAL. 

And  now,  gentle  Reader,  one  word  ere  we  part, — 
Just  take  a  friend's  counsel,  and  lay  it  to  heart. 
Imprimis,  don't  smuggle ! — if,  bent  to  please  Beauty, 
You  7mist  buy  French  lace,  purchase  Avhat  has  paid  duty ! 
Don't  use  naughty  words,  in  the  next  place ;  and  ne'er  in 
Your  language  adojDt  a  bad  habit  of  swearing ! 

Never  say  "  Devil  take  me !" 

Or  "  shake  me !"  or  "  bake  me !" 
Or  such-like  expressions : — Remember  Old  Nick 
To  take  folks  at  their  word  is  remarkably  quick. 
Another  sound  maxim  I'd  wish  you  to  keep 
Is,  "  Mind  what  you're  after,-  and — Look  ere  you  leap !" 

Above  all,  to  my  last  gravest  caution  attend : 

Never  borrow  a  horse  you  don't  know,  of  a  friend  I ! 


For  the  story  which  succeeds  I  am  indebted  to  ]\Irs.  Both- 
erby.  She  is  a  Shropshire  lady  by  birth,  and  I  overheard  her 
a  few  weeks  since,  in  the  nursery,  chanting  the  following,  one 
of  the  Legends  peculiar  to  her  native  county,  for  the  amuse- 


372  BLOUDIE  J  ACRE  OF  SHREWSBERRIE. 

meut  and  information  of  Seaforth's  little  boy,  who  was  indeed 
"  all  ears."  As  Ralph  de  Diceto,  who  alludes  to  the  main 
facts,  was  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  in  1183,  about  the  time  that  the 
Temple  Church  was  consecrated,  the  history  is  evidently  as 
ancient  as  it  is  authentic,  though  the  author  of  the  present  par- 
aphrase has  introduced  many  unauthorized  as  well  as  "  anach- 
ronismatical  interpolations."  For  the  interesting  note  on  the 
ancient  family  of  Ketch,  I  need  scarcely  say,  I  am  obliged  to 
the  Simpkinson. 


HSloutrie  Jacike  of  S^J^^^^^J^trie. 

THE   SHROPSHIRE   BLUEBEARD. 

A  LEGEND  OF  "THE  PROUD  SALOPIANS." 

Hisce  fer6  temporibus,  in  agro  Salopiensi,  Quidam,  cui  nomen  Johannes,  If  Sang- 
launt  deinde  nuncupatus,  uxores  quamplurimas  ducit,  enecat  et  (ita  referunt)  mandu- 
cat;  ossa  solflm  cani  mirte  magnitudinis  relinquens.  Turn  deiuutu  in  flagrante  delicto, 
vel  "manu  rubra,"  ut  dicunt  Jurisconsulti,  deprensus,  carnifice  vix  opprimitur.— Ra- 
DULPHUS  DE  Diceto. 

OH !  why  doth  thine  eye  gleam  so  bright, 
ii3loutiic  3Jacfee? 

Oh !  why  doth  thine  eye  gleam  so  bright  ? 

The  Mother's  at  home.     The  Maid  may  not  roam ; 
She  never  will  meet  thee  to-night. 

By  the  light 
Of  the  moon — it's  impossible, — quite ! 

Yet  thine  eye  is  still  brilliant  and  bright, 

li3louti(e  garfee! 

It  gleams  with  a  fiendish  delight. — 

"  'Tis  done —    She  is  won ! 

Nothing  under  the  sun 
Can  loose  the  charmed  ring,  though  it's  slight ! 

Ho!  ho! 
It  fits  so  remarkably  tight !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  SIIROrSIIIRE.  ;J73 

The  wire  is  as  thin  as  a  thread, 

13loutiic  Ijarkc! 
The  wire  is  as  thin  as  a  thread ! — 

"  Though  slight  be  the  chain,     Again  might  and  main 
Cannot  rend  it  in  twain — She  is  wed  ! 

She  is  wed ! 
She  isjmine,  be  she  living  or  dead  ! 

Haw!  haw!" 

Nay,  laugh  not,  I  pray  thee,  so  loud, 

li3loutiie  ifacfee! 

Oh  !  laugh  not  so  loud  and  so  clear ! 

Though  sweet  is  thy  smile     The  heart  to  beguile, 
Yet  thy  laugh  is  quite  shocking  to  hear ; 

Oh  dear  1 
It  makes  the  blood  curdle  witli  fear ! 

The  Maiden  is  gone  by  the  glen, 

She  is  gone  by  the  glen  and  the  wood — 

It's  a  very  odd  thing     She  should  wear  such  a  ring, 
While  her  tresses  are  bound  with  a  snood. 

By  the  rood ! 
It's  a  thing  that's  not  well  understood ! 

The  Maiden  is  stately  and  tall, 

13Ioutii>  gac&e! 

And  stately  she  walks  in  her  pride ; 

But  the  young  Mary  Anne     Runs  as  fast  as  she  can, 
To  o'ertake  her,  and  walk  by  her  side, 

Though  she  chide— 
She  deems  not  her  sister  a  bride ! 

But  the  Maiden  is  gone  by  the  glen, 

ISloutJie  gacfee! 

Mary  Anne  she  is  gone  by  the  lea ; 

She  o'ertakes  not  her  sister.     It's  clear  she  has  missed  her. 
And  cannot  think  where  she  can  be ! 

Dear  me ! 
"  Ho !  ho ! — We  shall  see !  we  shall  see !" 


374  BLOUDIE  JACKE   OF  SHREWSBERRIE. 

Mary  Anne  is  gone  over  the  lea, 

Mary  Anne  she  is  come  to  the  Tower ! 

But  it  makes  her  heart  quail,     For  it  looks  like  a  jail, 
A  deal  more  than  a  fair  Lady's  bower, 

So  sour 
Its  ugly  gray  walls  seem  to  lower.  • 

For  the  Barbican's  massy  and  high, 

l^loutJie  f  acfee! 

And  the  oak  door  is  heavy  and  brown ; 

And  with  iron  it's  plated     And  machicolated, 
To  pour  boiling  oil  and  lead  down ; 

How  you'd  frown 
Should  a  ladleful  fall  on  your  crown ! 

The  rock  that  it  stands  on  is  steep, 

13loutiie  f  acfee! 

To  gain  it  one's  forced  for  to  creep ; 

The  Portcullis  is  strong,     And  the  Drawbridge  is  long, 
And  the  water  runs  all  round  the  Keep ; 

At  a  peep 
You  can  see  that  the  Moat's  very  deep ! 

The  Drawbridge  is  long,  but  it's  down, 

^loutiic  f  acfee! 

And  the  Portcullis  hangs  in  the  air ; 

And  no  Warder  is  near.     With  his  horn  and  his  spear, 
To  give  notice  when  people  come  there. — 

I  declare 
Mary  Anne  has  run  into  the  Square ! 

The  oak  door  is  heavy  and  brown, 

ISloutiie  gf aclte! 

But  the  oak  door  is  standing  ajar, 

And  no  one  is  there     To  say,  "  Pray  take  a  chair, 
You  seem  tired,  Miss,  with  running  so  far — 

So  you  are — 
With  grown  people  you're  scarce  on  a  par !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  SIIROrSIIIRE.  Ti 

But  the  young  Mary  Anne  is  not  tired, 

She  roams  o'er  your  Tower  by  herself; 

She  runs  through,  very  soon,     Each  boudoir  and  .saloon, 
And  examines  each  closet  and  shelf, 

Your  pelf, 
All  your  plate,  and  your  china — and  delf. 

She  looks  at  your  Arras  so  fine, 

iSlciutji'e  gacfee! 

So  rich,  all  description  it  mocks  ; 

And  she  now  and  then  pauses     To  gaze  at  your  vases. 
Your  pictures,  and  or-molu  clocks  ; 

•  Every  box, 

Every  cupboard  and  drawer,  she  unlocks. 

She  looks  at  the  paintings  so  rare, 

9]3loutJic  gacke! 

That  adorn  every  wall  in  your  house ; 

Your  unpayable  pieces.     Your  Paul  Veroneses, 
Your  Rembrandts,  your  Guidos,  and  Dows, 

Morland's  Cows, 
Claude's  Landscapes, — and  Landseer's  Bow-wows. 

She  looks  at  your  Statues  so  fine, 

^loutiie  f  acfee! 

And  mighty  great  notice  she  takes 

Of  your  Niobe  crying,     Your  Mirmillo  dying, 
Your  Hercules  strangling  the  snakes, — 

How  he  shakes 
The  nasty  great  things  as  he  wakes ! 

Your  Laocoon,  his  serpents  and  boys. 

She  views  with  some  little  dismay ; 

A  copy  of  that  I  can     See  in  the  Vatican, 
Unless  the  Pope's  sent  it  away. 


376  BLOUDIE  JACKE   OF  SHREWSBERRIE. 

As  they  say, 
In  the  Globe,  he  intended  last  May.* 

There's  your  Belvidere  Phoebus,  with  which, 

Mr.  Milman  says  none  other  vies. 

(His  lines  on  Apollo     Beat  all  the  rest  hollow, 
And  gained  him  the  Newdigate  prize.) 

How  the  eyes 
Seem  watching  the  shaft  as  it  flies ! 

There's  a  room  full  of  satins  and  silks, 

^loutiie  gjarfee! 

There's  a  room  full  of  velvet  and  lace,  • 

There  are  drawers  full  of  rings 

And  a  thousand  fine  things, 
And  a  splendid  gold  watch  with  a  case 

O'er  its  face, 
Is  in  every  room  in  the  place. 

There  are  forty  fine  rooms  on  a  floor, 

^loutiiP  ^acfec! 

And  every  room  fit  for  a  Ball, 

It's  so  gorgeous  and  rich.     With  so  lofty  a  pitch, 
And  so  long,  and  so  broad,  and  so  tall ; 

Yes,  all. 
Save  the  last  one — and  that's  very  small ! 

It  boasts  not  stool,  table,  or  chair, 

13loutiie  gacfee! 

But  one  Cabinet,  costly  and  grand. 

Which  has  little  gold  figures     Of  little  gold  Niggers, 
With  fishing-rods  stuck  in  each  hand. — 

It's  japanned, 
And  it's  placed  on  a  splendid  buhl  stand. 

*  "  Tlie  Pope  is  said — this  fact  is  hardly  credible — to  have  sold  the  Laocoon  and  the 
Apollo  Belvidere  to  the  Emperor  of  Russia  for  nine  millions  of  francs." — Globe  and 
Traveller. 


A  LEGEND   OF  SHROrSHIRE.  377 

Its  hinges  and  clasps  are  of  gold, 

And  of  gold  are  its  keyhole  and  key, 

And  the  drawers  within     Have  each  a  gold  p 
And  they're  numbered  with  1,  2,  and  3 ; 

You  may  see 
All  the  figures  in  gold  filigree ! 

Number  I's  full  of  emeralds  green, 

iSloutJie  gacfee! 

Number  2's  full  of  diamonds  and  pearl ; 

But  what  does  she  see     In  drawer  Number  3 
That  makes  all  her  senses  to  whirl. 

Poor  Girl ! 
And  each  lock  of  her  hair  to  uncurl  ? — 

Wedding  fingers  are  sweet  pretty  things. 

To  salute  them  one  eagerly  strives, 

When  one  kneels  to  "propose" — 

It's  another  quelque  chose 
When,  cut  off  at  the  knuckles  with  knives, 

From  our  wives, 
They  are  tied  up  in  bunches  of  fives. 

Yet  there  they  lie,  one,  two,  three,  four ! 

iSloutite  f  acfee! 
There  lie  they,  five,  six,  seven,  eight ! 

And  by  them,  in  rows.     Lie  eight  little  Great-Toes, 
To  match  in  size,  color,  and  weight ! 

From  their  state, 
It  would  seem  they'd  been  severed  of  late. 

Beside  them  are  eight  Wedding-rings, 

13loutii'e  gacfec! 
And  the  gold  is  as  thin  as  a  thread — 

"  Ho !  ho !— She  is  mine—     This  will  make  up  the  Nine !" 
Dear  me !  who  those  shocking  words  said  ? — 

—She  fled 
To  hide  herself  under  the  bed. 


378  BLOUDIE  J  ACRE   OF  SHREWSBERRIE. 

But,  alas !  there's'  no  bed  in  the  room, 

And  she  peeps  from  the  window  on  high  ; 

Only  fancy  her  fright     At  the  terrible  sight 
Down  below,  which  at  once  meets  her  eye ! 

"Oh  my!!" 
She  half  uttered, — but  stifled  her  cry. 

For  she  saw  it  was  You  and  your  Man, 

^loutiie  gacfec! 

And  she  heard  your  unpleasant  "  Haw !  haw !" 

While  her  sister,  stone  dead,     By  the  hair  of  her  head 
O'er  the  bridge  you  were  trying  to  draw, 

As  she  saw — 
A  thing  quite  contra-ry  to  law ! 

Your  man  has  got  hold  of  her  heels, 

93lout({c  gfacke! 
?3lOUtJlf  jacket  you've  got  hold  of  her  hair! — 

But  nor  ^jjacfec  nor  his  Man     Can  see  young  Mary  Anne, 
She  has  hid  herself  under  the  stair. 

And  there 
Is  a  horrid  great  Dog,  I  declare ! 

His  eyeballs  are  bloodshot  and  blear, 

13louTjie  Ifacfee! 

He's  a  sad  ugly  cur  for  a  pet ; 

He  seems  of  the  breed     Of  that  "  Billy,"  indeed, 
Who  used  to  kill  rats  for  a  bet ; 

— I  forget 
How  many  one  morning  he  ate. 

He  has  skulls,  ribs,  and  vertebrae  there, 

l^loubie  gjaclte! 

And  thigh-bones ; — and,  though  it's  so  dim. 

Yet  it's  plain  to  be  seen 

He  has  picked  them  quite  clean, — 
She  expects  to  be  torn  limb  from  limb. 

So  grim 
He  looks  at  her — and  she  looks  at  him. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHROPSniRE.  379 

She  has  given  him  a  bun  and  a  roll, 

She  has  given  him  a  roll  and  a  bun, 

And  a  Shrewsbury  cake     Of  |)ai'll'n'0*  own  make, 
Which  she  happened  to  take  ere  her  run 

She  begun — 
She'd  been  used  to  a  luncheon  at  One. 

It's  "  a  pretty  particular  Fix," 

iBloutJic  gacfec! 
— Above, — there's  the  Maiden  that's  dead  ; 

Below — growling  at  her —     There's  that  Cannibal  Cur 
Who  at  present  is  munching  her  bread, 

Instead 
Of  her  leg, — or  her  arm, — or  her  head. 

It's  "  a  pretty  particular  Fix," 

5Slout(ic  facile  I 

She  is  caught  like  a  mouse  in  a  trap ; — 

Stay  ! — there's  something,  I  think. 

That  has  slipped  through  a  chink. 
And  fall'n,  by  a  singular  hap. 

Slap 
Into  poor  little  Mary  Anne's  lap ! 

It's  a  very  fine  little  gold  ring, 

i3louti(e  f  acfee! 

Yet,  though  slight,  it's  remarkably  stout. 

But  it's  made  a  sad  stain.     Which  will  always  remain 
On  her  frock — for  Blood  will  not  wash  out , 

I  doubt 
Salts  of  Lemon  won't  bring  it  about  I 

She  has  grasped  that  gold  ring  in  her  hand, 

l3loulj(e  gacfee! 
In  an  instant  she  stands  on  the  floor. 

She  makes  but  one  bound     O'er  the  back  of  the  hound, 
And  a  hop,  skip,  and  jump  to  the  door, 

*  Oh,  Pailin!  Prince  of  cake-compounders !  the  mouth  liquetics  at  thy  very  name- 
but  there ! 


380  B  LOUD  IE  JACKS   OF  SHREWSBERRIE. 

And  she's  o'er 
The  drawbridge  she'd  traversed  before ! 


Her  hair's  floating  loose  in  the  breeze, 

^lo Utile  gacfee! 

For  gone  is  her  "  bonnet  of  blue." 

— Now  the  Barbican's  past ! —     Her  legs  " go  it"  as  fast 
As  two  drumsticks  a-beating  tattoo, 

As  they  do 
At  Reveille,  Parade,  or  Review ! 


She  has  run  into  Shrewsbury  town, 

^lout»{f  I^ackc! 

She  has  called  out  the  Beadle  and  May'r, 

And  the  Justice  of  Peace,     And  the  Rural  Police, 
Till  "  Battle  Field"  swarms  like  a  Fair,— 

And  see  there ! — 
E'en  the  Parson's  beginning  to  swear ! ! 


There's  a  pretty  to-do  in  your  Tower, 

In  your  Tower  there's  a  pretty  to-do ! 

All  the  people  of  Shrewsbury 

Playing  old  gooseberry 
With  your  choice  bits  of  taste  and  vertu ; 

Each  bijou 
Is  upset  in  their  search  after  you  ! 


They  are  playing  the  deuce  with  your  things, 

13loutiie  gacfee! 
There's  your  Cupid  is  broken  in  two. 

And  so  too,  between  us,  is     Each  of  your  Venuses, 
The  "Antique"  one  you  bought  of  the  Jew, 

And  the  new 
One,  George  Robins  swears  came  from  St.  Cloud. 


They  have  found  you  at  last  1— 
There  you  are,  sticking  fast." 
p.  381. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SUROPSHIRE.  381 

The  Callipyge's  injured  behind, 

The  De  Medici's  injured  before ! 

And  the  Anadyomene     's  injured  in  so  many 
Places,  I  think  there's  a  score. 

If  not  more. 
Of  her  fingers  and  toes  on  the  floor. 

They  are  hunting  you  up  stairs  and  down. 

Every  person  to  pass  is  forbid, 

While  they  turn  out  the  closets     And  all  their  deposits — 
"  There's  the  dust-hole — come  lift  up  the  lid !" — 

So  they  did — 
But  they  could  not  find  where  you  were  hid ! 

Ah !  ah  ! — they  will  have  you  at  last, 

i3loutiif  3?acfee! 

The  chimneys  to  search  they  begin ; — 

They  have  found  you  at  last! — 

There  you  are,  sticking  fast. 
With  your  knees  doubled  up  to  your  chin. 

Though  you're  thin 
— Dear  me !  what  a  mess  you  are  in  ! — 

What  a  terrible  pickle  you're  in, 

i^loutiie  gacke! 

Why,  your  face  is  as  black  as  your  hat ! 

Your  fine  Holland  shirt     Is  all  over  dirt, 
And  so  is  your  point-lace  cravat ! 

What  a  Flat 
To  seek  such  an  asylum  as  that ! 

They  can  scarcely  help  laughing,  I  vow, 

13Iout)ie  f  ackf! 

In  the  midst  of  their  turmoil  and  strife ; 

You're  not  fit  to  be  seen !     — You  look  like  Mr.  Keau 
In  the  play  where  he  murders  his  wife ! 

On  my  life 
You  ought  to  be  scraped  with  a  knife ! 


382  BLOUDIE  JACKE   OF  SHREWSBERRIE. 

They  have  pulled  you  down  flat  on  your  back, 

ii3lciu"Dic  gjarfec! 

They  have  pulled  you  down  flat  on  your  back ! 

And  they  smack,  and  they  thwack, 

Till  your  "funny  bones"  crack 
As  if  you  were  stretched  on  the  rack. 

At  each  thwack  I 
Good  lack !  what  a  savage  attack ! 

They  call  for  the  Parliament  Man, 

i3louXJie  3Jacfep! 
And  the  Hangman,  the  matter  to  clinch ; 

And  they  call  for  the  Judge,     But  others  cry  "  Fudge ! — ■ 
Don't  budge,  Mr.  Calcraft,*  an  inch ! 

Mr.  Lynch  t 
"Will  do  very  well  at  a  pinch !" 


It  is  useless  to  scuffle  and  cuflf. 


ISlouTii'e  gacfep! 


It  is  useless  to  struggle  and  bite, 
And  to  kick  and  to  scratch : 
You  have  met  with  your  match, 

And  the  Shrewsbury  Boys  hold  you  tight, 

Despite 

Your  determined  attempts  to  "  show  fight." 


*  Jehan  de  Ketche  acted  as  Provost  Marshal  to  the  army  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
and  received  from  that  monarch  a  grant  of  the  dignity  of  Hereditary  Grand  Func- 
tionary of  England,  together  with  a  "croft  or  parcel  of  land"  known  by  tlie  name 
of  the  ©IB  JSailit,  co.  Middx.,  to  be  held  by  hini,  and  the  heirs  general  of  his  body,  in 
Grand  Serjeantry,  by  the  yearly  presentation  of  "  ane  hempen  cravatte."  After  re- 
maining for  several  generations  in  the  same  name,  the  ofiice  passed,  by  marriage  of 
the  heiress,  into  the  ancient  family  of  the  Kirbys,  and  thence  again  to  that  of  Callcraft 
(1st  Eliz.  1558).  Abhorson  Callcraft,  Esq.,  of  Saffron  Hill,  co.  Middx.,  the  present  rep- 
resentative of  the  Ketches,  exercised  his  "function"  on  a  very  recent  occasion,  and 
claimed  and  was  allowed  the  fee  of  1334d.  under  the  ancient  grant  as  JQanstnan'a 


Arms. — 1st  and  4th,  Quarterly,  Argent  and  Sable ;  in  the  firs*  quarter  a  Gibbet  of  the 
second,  noosed  proper,  Callcraft.  2d,  Sable,  three  Nightcaps.  Argent,  tufted  Gules,  2 
and  1,  Ketche.    3d,  Or  a  Nosegay, /ei/raw^,  Kirhy. 

Supporters. — Dexter:  A  Shcrifi"  in  his  pride,  robed  Gules,  chained  and  collared  Or. 
Sinister :  An  Ordinary  display  proper,  wigged  and  banded  Argent,  nosed  Gules. 

Motto.— Sic  itur  ad  astra! 

f  The  American  Justinian,  compiler  of  the  "Yankee  Pandects," 


A   LEGEND    OF  SHROPSHIRE.  383 

They  are  pulling  you  all  sorts  of  ways, 

They  are  twisting  your  right  leg  Nor'west, 

And  your  left  leg  due  South, 

And  your  knee's  in  your  mouth. 
And  your  head  is  poked  down  on  your  breast, 

And  it's  prest, 
I  protest,  almost  into  your  chest  1 


They  have  pulled  off  your  arms  and  your  legs. 

As  the  naughty  boys  serve  the  blue  flies ; 

And  they've  torn  from  their  sockets, 

And  put  in  their  pockets, 
Your  fingers  and  thumbs  for  a  prize ; 

And  your  eyes 
A  Doctor  has  bottled — from  Guy's !  * 


Your  Trunk,  thus  dismembered  and  torn, 

13lciuTiie  S^acfee! 

They  hew,  and  they  hack,  and  they  chop ; 

And,  to  finish  the  whole,     They  stick  up  a  pole 
In  the  place  that's  still  called  the  212!l;l3?ltJe  (ttoppe, 

And  they  pop 
Your  grim  gory  head  on  the  top ! 


They  have  buried  the  fingers  and  toes, 

laioutiie  gacfee! 

Of  the  victims  so  lately  your  prey. 

From  those  fingers  and  eight  toes 

Sprang  early  potatoes, 
**  "Hati^tB*  dFgltQCrs  "  they're  called  to  this  day — 

So  they  say — 
And  you  usually  dig  them  in  May. 

*A  similar  appropriation  is  said  to  have  been  made  by  an  eminent  practitionei 
of  those  of  the  late  Monsieur  Courvoisier. 


384  B  LOU  DIE  JACKS   OF  SHREWSBERRIE. 

AVhat  became  of  the  dear  little  girl, 

What  became  of  the  young  Mary  Anne  ? 

AVhy,  I'm  sadly  afraid     That  she  died  an  Old  Maid, 
For  she  fancied  that  every  Young  Man 

Had  a  plan 
To  trepan  her  like  "  poor  Sister  Fan !" 


So  they  say  she  is  now  leading  apes, 

And  mends  Bachelors'  small-clothes,  below ; 

The  story  is  old,     And  has  often  been  told. 
But  I  cannot  believe  it  is  so — 

No!  nol 
Depend  on't  the  tale  is  "  No  Go !" 

MORAL. 

And  now  for  the  moral  I'd  fain, 

That  young  Ladies  should  draw  from  my  pen : — 

It's — Don't  take  these  flights     Upon  moonshiny  nights 
With  gay,  harum-scarum  young  men, 

Down  a  glen ! — 
You  really  can't  trust  one  in  ten ! 


Let  them  think  of  your  terrible  tower, 

And  don't  let  them  liberties  take, 

Whether  Maidens  or  Spouses,     In  Bachelors'  houses ; 
Or,  some  time  or  another,  they'll  make 

A  Mistake, 
And  lose — more  than  a  ^i^l^PiUSfierrie  (STafec ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  NORFOLK.  885 


Her  niece,  of  whom  I  have  before  made  honorable  mention^ 
is  not  a  whit  behind  Mrs.  Botherby  in  furnishing  entertainment 
for  the  young  folks.  If  little  Charles  has  the  aunt  to  sol  fa 
him  to  slumber,  Miss  Jenny  is  equally  fortunate  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  Sapi^ho  of  her  own.  It  is  to  the  air  of  "  Drops  of 
Brandy"  that  Patty  has  adapted  her  version  of  a  venerable 
ditty  which  we  have  all  listened  to  with  respect  and  affection 
under  its  old  title  of 


^f)e  ISaies  in  tje  SSEoot ; 

OE,    THE    NOEFOLK    TEAGEDY. 

AN  OLD  SONG  TO  A  NEW  TUNE. 

WHEN  we  were  all  little  and  good, — 
A  long  time  ago,  I'm  afraid.  Miss, — 
We  were  told  of  the  Babes  in  the  Wood, 

By  their  false,  cruel  Uncle  betrayed,  Miss. 
Their  Pa  was  a  Squire,  or  a  Knight ; 

In  Norfolk,  I  think,  his  estate  lay — 
That  is,  if  I  recollect  right, 

For  I've  not  read  the  history  lately.* 

Rum  ti,  etc. 

Their  Pa  and  their  Ma  being  seized 

With  a  tiresome  complaint,  which,  in  some  seasons. 
People  are  apt  to  be  seized 

With  who're  not  on  their  guard  against  plum  seasons, 
Their  medical  man  shook  his  head. 

As  he  could  not  well  get  to  the  root  of  it ; 


*See  Bloomfield's  History  of  the  County  of  Norfolk,  in  which  all  the  particulars 
of  this  lamentable  history  are  (or  ought  to  be)  fully  detailed,  together  with  the  names 
of  the  parties,  and  an  elaborate  pedigree  of  the  family. 
25 


386  THE  BABES  IN  THE   WOOD. 

And  the  Babes  stood  on  each  side  the  bed, 
While  their  Uncle  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  it. 


"  Oh,  Brother !"  their  Ma  whispered,  faint 

And  low,  for  breath  seeming  to  labor,  "  who'd 
Think  that  this  horrid  complaint. 

That's  been  going  about  in  the  neighborhood, 
Thus  should  attack  me, — nay  more, 

My  poor  husband  besides,  and  so  fall  on  him ! 
Bringing  us  so  near  to  Death's  door 

That  we  can't  avoid  making  a  call  on  him ! 

"  Now  think,  'tis  your  sister  invokes 

Your  aid,  and  the  last  word  she  says  is, 
Be  kind  to  those  dear  little  folks 

When  our  toes  are  turned  up  to  the  daisies  I 
By  the  servants  don't  let  them  be  snubbed  ; 

Let  Jane  have  her  fruit  and  her  custard ; 
And  mind  Johnny's  chilblains  are  rubbed 

Well  with  Whitehead's  best  essence  of  mustard. 

"  You  know  they'll  be  pretty  well  off  in 

Respect  to  what's  called  *  worldly  gear,' 
For  John,  when  his  Pa's  in  his  coffin, 

Comes  in  to  three  hundred  a  year ; 
And  Jane's  to  have  five  hundred  pound 

On  her  marriage  paid  down,  ev'ry  penny, — 
So  you'll  own  a  worse  match  might  be  found, 

Any  day  in  the  week,  than  our  Jenny !" 

Here  the  Uncle  pretended  to  cry. 

And,  like  an  old  thorough-paced  rogue,  he 
Put  his  handkerchief  up  to  his  eye. 

And  devoted  himself  to  Old  Bogey 
If  he  did  not  make  matters  all  right ; 

And  said,  should  he  covet  their  riches. 
He  "  wished  the  Old  Gentleman  might 

Fly  away  with  him,  body  and  breeches!" 


A  LEGEND   OF  NORFOLK.  387 

No  sooner,  however,  were  they 

Put  to  bed  with  a  spade  by  the  sexton,    * 
Than  he  carried  the  darlings  away 

Out  of  that  parish  into  the  next  one. 
Giving  out  he  should  take  them  to  town, 

And  select  the  best  school  in  the  nation, 
That  John  might  not  grow  up  a  clown, 

But  receive  a  genteel  education. 

"  Greek  and  Latin  old  twaddle  I  call !" 

Says  he ;  "  while  his  mind's  ductile  and  plastic, 
I'll  place  him  at  Dotheboys  Hall, 

Where  he'll  learn  all  that's  new  and  gymnastic. 
While  Jane — as,  when  girls  have  the  dumps. 

Fortune-hunters  by  scores  to  entrap  'em  rise — 
Shall  go  to  those  worthy  old  frumps, 

The  two  Misses  Tickler  of  Clapham  Rise !" 

Having  thought  of  the  How  and  the  When 

To  get  rid  of  his  nephew  and  niece, 
He  sent  for  two  ill-looking  men. 

And  he  gave  them  five  guineas  apiece. — 
Says  he,  "  Each  of  you  take  up  a  child 

On  the  crupper,  and  when  you  have  trotted 
Some  miles  through  that  wood  lone  and  wild, 

Take  your  knife  out  and  cut  its  carotid !" 

"  Done !"  and  "  Done !"  is  pronounced  on  each  side, 

While  the  poor  little  dears  are  delighted 
To  think  they  a-cockhorse  shall  ride. 

And  are  not  in  the  least  degree  frighted. 
They  say  their  "  Ta !  ta !"  as  they  start, 

And  they  prattle' so  nice  on  their  journey 
That  the  rogues  themselves  wish  to  their  heart 

They  could  finish  the  job  by  attorney. 

Nay,  one  was  so  taken  aback 

By  seeing  such  spirit  and  life  in  them, 
That  he  fairly  exclaimed,  "  I  say,  Jack, 

I'm  blowed  if  I  can  put  a  knife  in  them !" — 


388  THE  BABES  TN  THE  WOOD. 

*'  Pooh !"  says  his  pal,  "  you  great  dunce ! 

You've  pouched  the  good  gentleman's  money, 
So  out  with  your  whinger  at  once, 

And  scrag  Jane,  while  I  spiflicate  Johnny." 

He  refused,  and  harsh  language  ensued, 

Which  ended  at  length  in  a  duel. 
When  he  that  was  mildest  in  mood 

Gave  the  truculent  rascal  his  gruel ; 
The  Babes  quake  with  hunger  and  fear, 

While  the  ruffian  his  dead  comrade,  Jack,  buries ; 
Then  he  cries,  "  Loves,  amuse  yourselves  here 

With  the  hips,  and  the  haws,  and  the  blackberries ! 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  couple  of  shakes, 

So  don't,  dears,  be  quivering  and  quaking ; 
I'm  going  to  get  you  some  cakes. 

And  a  nice  buttered  roll  that's  a-baking !" 
He  rode  off  with  a  tear  in  his  eye, 

Which  ran  down  his  rough  cheek,  and  wet  it, 
As  he  said  to  himself  with  a  sigh, 

"  Pretty  souls ! — don't  they  wish  they  may  get  it !  \" 

From  that  moment  the  Babes  ne'er  caught  sight 

Of  the  wretch  who  thus  sought  their  undoing. 
But  passed  all  that  day  and  that  night 

In  wandering  about  and  "  boo-hoo  "-ing. 
The  night  proved  cold,  dreary,  and  dark. 

So  that,  worn  out  with  sighings  and  sobbings. 
Next  morn  they  were  found  stiff  and  stark. 

And  stone-dead,  by  two  little  Cock-Robins. 

These  two  little  birds  it  sore  grieves 

To  see  what  so  cruel  a  dodge  I  call, — 
They  cover  the  bodies  with  leaves. 

An  interment  quite  ornithological ; 
It  might  more  expensive  have  been, 

But  I  doubt,  though  I've  not  been  to  see  'em, 
If  among  those  in  all  Kensal  Green 

You  could  find  a  more  neat  Mausoleum. 


A  LEGEND   OF  NORFOLK.  389 

Now,  whatever  your  rogues  may  suppose, 

Conscience  always  makes  restless  their  pillows, 
And  Justice,  though  blind,  has  a  nose 

That  sniiFs  out  all  concealed  peccadilloes. 
The  wicked  old  Uncle,  they  say. 

In  spite  of  his  riot  and  revel. 
Was  hippish  and  qualmish  all  day, 

And  dreamt  all  night  long  of  the  devil. 

He  grew  gouty,  dyspeptic,  and  sour. 

And  his  brow,  once  so  smooth  and  so  placid,  , 
Fresh  wrinkles  acquired  every  hour. 

And  whatever  he  swallowed  turned  acid. 
The  neighbors  thought  all  was  not  right, 

Scarcely  one  with  him  ventured  to  parley. 
And  Captain  Swing  came  in  the  night. 

And  burnt  all  his  beans  and  his  barley. 

There  was  hardly  a  day  but  some  fox 

Ran  away  with  his  geese  and  his  ganders : 
His  wheat  had  the  mildew,  his  flocks 

Took  the  rot,  and  his  horses  the  glanders ; 
His  daughters  drank  rum  in  their  tea, 

His  son,  who  had  gone  for  a  sailor, 
Went  down  in  a  steamer  at  sea, 

And  his  wife  ran  away  with  a  tailor ! 

It  was  clear  he  lay  under  a  curse ; 

None  would  hold  with  him  any  communion ; 
Every  day  matters  grew  worse  and  worse, 

Till  they  ended  at  length  in  The  Union ; 
While  his  man  being  caught  in  some  fact 

(The  particular  crime  I've  forgotten), 
When  he  came  to  be  hanged  for  the  act, 

Split,  and  told  the  whole  story  to  Cotton. 

Understanding  the  matter  was  blown, 

His  employer  became  apprehensive 
Of  what,  when  'twas  more  fully  known, 

Might  ensue — he  grew  thoughtful  and  pensive ; 


390  THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD. 

He  purchased  some  sugar  of  lead, 

Took  it  home,  popped  it  into  his  porridge, 

Ate  it  up,  and  then  took  to  his  bed, 

And  so  died  in  the  workhouse  at  Norwich. 

MORAL. 

Ponder  well  now,  dear  Parents,  each  word 

That  I've  wrote,  and  when  Sirius  rages 
In  the  dog-days,  don't  be  so  absurd 

As  to  blow  yourself  out  with  Green-gages ! 
Of  stone-fruits  in  general  be  shy, 

And  reflect  it's  a  fact  beyond  question 
That  Grapes,  when  they're  spelt  with  an  i, 

Promote  anything  else  but  digestion. — 

— When  you  set  about  making  your  will. 

Which  is  commonly  done  when  a  body's  ill, 
Mind  and  word  it  with  caution  and  skill. 

And  avoid,  if  you  can,  any  codicil ! 
When  once  you've  appointed  an  heir 

To  the  fortune  you've  made,  or  obtained,  ere 
You  leave  a  reversion  beware 

Whom  you  place  in  contingent  remainder ! 

Executors,  Guardians,  and  all 

Who  have  children  to  mind,  don't  ill  treat  them, 
Nor  think  that,  because  they  are  small 

And  weak,  you  may  beat  them,  and  cheat  them ; 
Remember  that  "  ill-gotten  goods 

Never  thrive ;"  their  possession's  but  cursory, 
So  never  turn  out  in  the  woods 

Little  folks  you  should  keep  in  the  nursery. 

Be  sure  he  who  does  such  base  things 

Will  ne'er  stifle  Conscience's  clamor ; 
His  "  riches  will  make  themselves  wings," 

And  his  property  come  to  the  hammer ! 
Then  He,  and  not  those  he  bereaves. 

Will  have  most  cause  for  sighings  and  sobbings, 
When  he  finds  himself  smothered  with  leaves 

(Of  fat  catalogues)  heaped  up  by  Robins ! 


A  LEGEND   OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  391 

The  incidents  recorded  in  the  succeeding  Legend  were  com- 
municated to  a  dear  friend  of  our  family  by  the  late  lamented 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  The  names  and  localities  have  been  scrupu- 
lously retained,  as  she  is  ready  to  testify.  The  proceedings  in 
this  case  are,  I  believe,  recorded  in  some  of  our  law  reports, 
though  I  have  never  been  able  to  lay  my  hand  upon  them. 

A  LEGEND  OF  SALISBUEY  PLAIN. 

OH,  Salisbury  Plain  is  bleak  and  bare, — 
At  least  so  I've  heard  many  people  declare, 
For  I  fairly  confess  I  never  was  there ; — 

Not  a  shrub  nor  a  tree     Nor  a  bush  can  you  see ; 
No  hedges,  no  ditches,  no  gates,  no  stiles, 
Much  less  a  house  or  a  cottage,  for  miles ; — 

It's  a  very  sad  thing  to  be  caught  in  the  rain 
When  night's  coming  on  upon  Salisbury  Plain. 

Now,  I'd  have  you  to  know    That  a  great  while  ago, — 
The  best  part  of  a  century,  may  be,  or  so, — 
Across  this  same  plain,  so  dull  and  so  dreary, 
A  couple  of  Travellers,  way-worn  and  weary, 

Were  making  their  way ;     Their  profession,  you'd  say, 
At  a  single  glance  did  not  admit  of  a  query ; 
The  pump-handled  pig-tail,  and  whiskers  worn  then, 
With  scarce  an  exception,  by  sea-faring  men, 
The  jacket, — the  loose  trousers  "  bowsed  up  together" — all 
Guiltless  of  braces,  as  those  of  Charles  Wetherall, — 
The  pigeon-toed  step,  and  the  rollicking  motion, 
Bespoke  them  two  genuine  sons  of  the  Ocean, 
And  showed  in  a  moment  their  real  characters 
(The  accent  so  placed  on  this  word  by  our  Jack-Tars). 

The  one  in  advance  was  sturdy  and  strong, 
With  arms  uncommonly  bony  and  long. 


392  THE  DEAD  DRUMMER. 

And  his  Guernsey  shirt    Was  all  pitch  and  dirt, 
Which  sailors  don't  think  inconvenient  or  wrong. 

He  was  very  broad-breasted,     And  very  deep-chested ; 
His  sinewy  frame  correspond  with  the  rest  did, 
Except  as  to  height,  for  he  could  not  be  more 
At  the  most,  you  would  say,  than  some  five  feet  four, 
And,  if  measured,  perhaps  had  been  found  a  thought  lower. 
Dame  Nature,  in  fact, — whom  some  person  or  other, 
— A  poet, — has  called  a  "  capricious  stepmother," — 

You  saw,  when  beside  him.     Had  somehow  denied  him 
In  longitude  what  she  had  granted  in  latitude. 

A  trifling  defect     You'd  the  sooner  detect 
From  his  having  contracted  a  stoop  in  his  attitude. 
Square-built  and  broad-shouldered,  good-humored  and  gay, 
With  his  collar  and  countenance  open  as  day, 
The  latter — 'twas  marked  with  small-pox,  by  the  way — 
Had  a  sort  of  expression  good-will  to  bespeak ; 
He'd  a  smile  in  his  eye,  and  a  quid  in  his  cheek ! 
And,  in  short,  notwithstanding  his  failure  in  height. 
He  was  just  such  a  man  as  you'd  say,  at  first  sight. 
You  would  much  rather  dine,  or  shake  hands,  with  than  fight. 

The  other,  his  friend  and  companion,  was  taller, 
By  five  or  six  inches,  at  least,  than  the  smaller ; — 

From  his  air  and  his  mien     It  was  plain  to  be  seen 

That  he  was,  or  had  been,     A  something  between 
The  real  "  Jack  Tar"  and  the  "  Jolly  Marine." 
For,  though  he  would  give  an  occasional  hitch. 
Sailor-like,  to  his  "  slops,"  there  was  something  the  which 
On  the  whole  savored  more  of  the  pipeclay  than  pitch. — 
Such  were  now  the  two  men  who  appeared  on  the  hill, 
Harry  Waters  the  tall  one,  the  short  Spanking  Bill. 

To  be  caught  in  the  rain,     I  repeat  it  again, 
Is  extremely  unpleasant  on  Salisbury  Plain ; 
And  when  with  a  good  soaking  shower  there  are  blended 
Blue  lightnings  and  thunder,  the  matter's  not  mended ; 

Such  was  the  case    In  this  wild  dreary  place, 
On  the  day  that  I'm  speaking  of  now,  when  the  brace 
Of  trav'llers  alluded  to  quickened  their  pace, 


A  LEGEND   OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  393 

Till  a  good  steady  walk  became  more  like  a  race 
To  get  quit  of  the  tempest  which  held  them  in  chase. 

Louder,  and  louder    Than  mortal  gunpowder, 
The  heav'nly  artillery  kept  crashing  and  roaring. 
The  lightning  kept  flashing,  the  rain  too  kept  pouring, 

While  they,  helter-skelter.     In  vain  sought  for  shelter 
From  what  I've  heard  termed  "  a  regular  pelter ;" 

But  the  deuce  of  a  screen     Could  be  anywhere  seen. 
Or  an  object  except  that  on  one  of  the  rises, 

An  old  way -post  showed     Where  the  Lavington  road 
Branched  off"  to  the  left  from  the  one  to  Devizes ; 
And  thither  the  footsteps  of  Waters  seemed  tending. 
Though  a  doubt  might  exist  of  the  course  he  was  bending, 
To  a  landsman,  at  least,  who,  wherever  he  goes. 
Is  content,  for  the  most  part,  to  follow  his  nose ; — 

While    Harry    kept    "backing"      And    "filling"— and 
"tacking"— 
Two  nautical  terms  which,  I'll  wager  a  guinea,  are 

Meant  to  imply     What  you,  Reader,  and  I 
Would  call  going  zig-zag,  and  not  rectilinear. 

But  here,  once  for  all,  let  me  beg  you'll  excuse 
All  mistakes  I  may  make  in  the  words  sailors  use 

'Mongst  themselves   on  a   cruise,     Or  ashore  with  the 
Jews, 
Or  in  making  their  court  to  their  Polls  and  their  Sues, 
Or  addressing  those  slop-selling  females  afloat — women 
Known  in  our  navy  as  oddly-named-boat  women. 
The  fact  is,  I  can't  say  I'm  versed  in  the  school 
So  ably  conducted  by  Marryat  and  Poole 
(See  the  last-mentioned  gentleman's  "  Admiral's  Daughter  ") ; 

The  grand  vade  meciim     For  all  who  to  sea  come. 
And  get,  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  in  blue  water ; 
Of  course  in  the  use  of  sea  terms  you'll  not  wonder 
If  I  now  and  then  should  fall  into  some  blunder. 
For  which  Captain  Chamier,  or  Mr.  T.  P.  Cooke, 
Would  call  me  a  "  Lubber,"  and  "  Son  of  a  Sea-cook." 


394  THE  DEAD  DRUMMER. 

To  return  to  our  muttons — This  mode  of  progression 
At  length  upon  Spanking  Bill  made  some  impression. 

— "  Hillo,  messmate,  what  cheer  ?    How  queer  you  do  steer !" 
Cried  Bill,  whose  short  legs  kept  him  still  in  the  rear. 
"  Why,  what's  in  the  wind,  Bo  ? — what  is  it  you  fear  ? 
For  he  saw  in  a  moment  that  something  was  fright'ning 
His  shipmate  much  more  than  the  thunder  and  lightning. 

"  Fear?"  stammered  out  Waters,  "  why,  Him  ! — don't  you  see 
What  faces  that  Drummer-boy's  making  at  me? 

— How  he  dodges  me  so     Wherever  I  go  ? — 
What  is  it  he  wants  with  me.  Bill, — do  you  know  ?" 
"  What  Drummer-boy,  Harry  ?"  cries  Bill  in  surprise 
(With  a  brief  explanation  that  ended  in  "eyes"), 
"  What  Drummer-boy,  Waters  ? — the  coast  is  all  clear, 
We  haven't  got  never  no  Drummer-boy  here  1" 

"  Why,  there ! — don't  you  see     How  he's  following  me  ? 
Now  this  way,  now  that  way,  and  won't  let  me  be ! 

Keep  him  off.  Bill — look  here —    Don't  let  him  come  near ! 
Only  see  how  the  blood-drops  his  features  besmear ! 
What,  the  dead  come  to  life  again ! — Bless  me ! — Oh  dear !" 

Bill  remarked  in  reply,  "  This  is  all  very  queer — 

What,  a  Drummer-boy — bloody,  too — eh ! — well,  I  never — 

I  can't  see  no  Drummer-boy  here  whatsumdever !" 

"  Not  see  him ! — why  there ; — look ! — he's  close  by  the  post — 

Hark ! — hark ! — how  he  drums  at  me  now ! — he's  a  Ghost !" 

"  A  what  ?"  returned  Bill, — at  that  moment  a  flash 

More  than  commonly  awful  preceded  a  crash 

Like  what's  called  in  Kentucky  "  an  Almighty  Smash." — 

And  down  Harry  Waters  went  plump  on  his  knees, 

While  the  sound,  though  prolonged,  died  away  by  degrees ; 

In  its  last  sinking  echoes,  however,  were  some 

Which,  Bill  could  not  help  thinking,  resembled  a  drum ! 

"  Hollo !  Waters ! — I  says,"     Quoth  he  in  amaze, 
"  Why,  I  never  see'd  nuffi/ti  in  all  my  born  days 


A   LEGEND    OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  395 

Half  so  queer     As  this  here, 
And  I'm  not  very  clear 

But  that  one  of  us  two  has  good  reason  for  fear. 
You  to  jaw  about  drummers  with  nobody  near  us ! — 
I  must  say  as  how  that  I  thinks  it's  mysterus," 

"  Oh,  mercy !"  roared  Waters ;  "  do  keep  him  off,  Bill  I 
And,  Andrew,  forgive ! — I'll  confess  all ! — I  will ! 

I'll  make  a  clean  breast.     And  as  for  the  rest. 
You  may  do  with  me  just  what  the  lawyers  think  best; 
But  haunt  me  not  thus ! — let  these  visitings  cease, 
And  your  vengeance  accomplished,  Boy,  leave  me  in  peace !" 
— Harry  paused  for  a  moment, — then  turning  to  Bill, 
"Who  stood  with  his  mouth  open,  steady  and  still, 
Began  "  spinning"  what  nauticals  term  a  "  tough  yarn," 
Viz.,  his  tale  of  what  Bill  called  "  this  precious  consarn." 


"  It  was  in  such  an  hour  as  this, 

On  such  a  wild  and  wintry  day, 
The  forked  lightning  seemed  to  hiss, 

As  now,  athwart  our  lonely  way. 
When  first  these  dubious  paths  I  tried — 
Yon  livid  form  was  by  my  side ! — 

"  Not  livid  then — the  ruddy  glow 

Of  life,  and  youth,  and  health  it  bore ! 

And  bloodless  was  that  gory  brow, 
And  cheerful  was  the  smile  it  wore. 

And  mildly  then  those  eyes  did  shine — 

— Those  eyes  which  now  are  blasting  mine ! 

"  They  beamed  with  confidence  and  love 
Upon  my  face, — and  Andrew  Brand 

Had  sooner  feared  yon  frightened  dove 

Than  harm  from  Gervase  Matcham's  hand ! 

— I  am  no  Harry  Waters — men 

Did  call  me  Gervase  Matcham  then. 


896  THE  DEAD   DRUMMER. 

"  And  Matcliam,  though  a  humble  name, 
Was  stainless  as  the  feathery  flake 

From  Heaven,  whose  virgin  whiteness  came 
Upon  the  newly-frozen  lake ; 

Commander,  comrade,  all  began 

To  laud  the  Soldier, — like  the  Man. 

"  Nay,  muse  not,  William, — I  have  said 
I  was  a  soldier — staunch  and  true 

As  any  he  above  whose  head 

Old  England's  lion  banner  flew ; 

And,  duty  done, — her  claims  apart, — 

'Twas  said  I  had  a  kindly  heart. 

"  And  years  rolled  on,  and  with  them  came 
Promotion — Corporal — Sergeant — all 

In  turn — I  kept  mine  honest  fame — 
Our  Colonel's  self, — whom  men  did  call 

The  veriest  Martinet — ev'n  he. 

Though  cold  to  most,  was  kind  to  me ! — 

"  One  morn — oh !  may  that  morning  stand 

Accursed  in  the  rolls  of  fate 
Till  latest  time ! — there  came  command 

To  carry  forth  a  charge  of  weight 
To  a  detachment  far  away, — 
— It  was  their  regimental  pay ! — 

"And  who  so  fit  for  such  a  task 
As  trusty  Matcham,  true  and  tried, 

Who  spurned  the  inebriating  flask. 
With  honor  for  his  constant  guide  ? — 

On  Matcham  fell  their  choice — and  He, — 

'  Young  Drum,' — should  bear  him  company ! 

"  And  grateful  was  that  sound  to  hear. 
For  he  was  full  of  life  and  joy. 

The  mess-room  pet — to  each  one  dear 
Was  that  kind,  gay,  light-hearted  boy : 

— The  veriest  churl  in  all  our  band 

Had  aye  a  smile  for  Andrew  Brand. — 


A  LEGEND   OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  397 

— "  Nay,  glare  not  as  I  name  thy  name ! 

That  threatening  hand,  that  fearful  brow 
Relax — avert  that  glance  of  flame ! 

Thou  seest  I  do  thy  bidding  now ! 
Vexed  Spirit,  rest ! — 'twill  soon  be  o'er, — 
Thy  blood  shall  cry  to  Heav'n  no  more ! 

"Enough — we  journeyed  on — the  walk 
Was  long, — and  dull  and  dark  the  day, — 

And  still  young  Andrew's  cheerful  talk 
And  merry  laugh  beguiled  the  way ; 

Noon  came,  a  sheltering  bank  was  there, — 

We  paused  our  frugal  meal  to  share. 

"  Then  'twas,  with  cautious  hand,  I  sought 

To  prove  my  charge  secure, — and  drew 
The  packet  from  my  vest,  and  brought 

The  glittering  mischief  forth  to  view ; 
And  Andrew  cried, — No ! — 'twas  not  He ! 
It  was  The  Tempter  spoke  to  me ! 

"  But  it  was  Andrew's  laughing  voice 

That  sounded  in  my  tingling  ear : 
— '  Now,  Gervase  Matcham,  at  thy  choice,' 

It  seemed  to  say,  *  are  gauds  and  gear. 
And  all  that  wealth  can  buy  or  bring, 
Ease, — wassail, — worship, — everything! 

" '  No  tedious  drill,  no  long  parade, 

No  bugle  call  at  early  dawn ; 
For  guard-room  bench,  or  barrack  bed, 

The  downy  couch,  the  sheets  of  lawn ; 
And  I  thy  Page, — thy  steps  to  tend. 
Thy  sworn  companion, — servant, — friend !' 

— "  He  ceased — that  is,  I  heard  no  more, 

Though  other  words  passed  idly  by. 
And  Andrew  chattered  as  before. 

And  laughed — I  marked  him  not — not  I. 
* '  Tis  at  thy  choice  /'  that  sound  alone 
Rang  in  mine  ear — voice  else  was  none. 


398  THE  DEAD   DRUMMER. 

"  I  could  not  eat, — the  untasted  flask 

Mocked  my  parched  lip, — I  passed  it  by. 

*  What  ails  the  man  ?'  he  seemed  to  ask. — 

I  felt,  but  could  not  meet,  his  eye. — 
' '  Tis  at  thy  choice  V — it  sounded  yet, — 
A  sound  I  never  may  forget. 

— "  *  Haste !  haste !  the  day  draws  on,'  I  cried, 
'  And,  Andrew,  thou  hast  far  to  go  !' — 

*  Sastfar  to  go  /'  the  Fiend  replied 

"Within  me,  — 'twas  not  Andrew — no ! 
'Twas  Andrew's  voice  no  more — 'twas  He 
Whose  then  I  was,  and  aye  must  be  I 

— "  On,  on  we  went ; — the  dreary  plain 
AVas  all  around  us — we  were  Sere  I 

Then  came  the  storm, — the  lightning, — rain ; 
No  earthly  living  thing  was  near, 

Save  one  wild  Raven  on  the  wing, 

— If  that,  indeed,  were  earthly  thing ! 

"  I  heard  its  hoarse  and  screaming  voice 
High  hovering  o'er  my  frenzied  head, 

* '  Tis,  Gervase  Matcham,  at  thy  choice  ! 
But  he — the  Boy .''  methought  it  said. 

— Nay,  Andrew,  check  that  vengeful  frown, — 

I  loved  thee  Avhen  I  struck  thee  down ! 


"  'Twas  done !  the  deed  that  damns  me — done 
I  know  not  how — I  never  knew ; — 

And  Here  I  stood — but  not  alone, — 
The  prostrate  Boy  my  madness  slew 

Was  by  my  side — limb,  feature,  name, 

'Twas  He  ! ! — another — yet  the  same ! 

"  Away !  away !  in  frantic  haste 

Throughout  that  live-long  night  I  flew — 

Away !  away ! — across  the  waste,— 
I  know  not  how — I  never  knew. — 

My  mind  was  one  wild  blank — and  I 

Had  but  one  thought,  one  hope — to  fly ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  399 

"  And  still  the  lightning  ploughed  the  ground. 
The  thunder  roared — and  there  would  come 

Amidst  its  loudest  bursts  a  sound 

Familiar  once — it  was — A  DRUM ! — 

Then  came  the  morn, — and  light, — and  then 

Streets, — houses, — spires, — the  hum  of  men. 

"And  Ocean  rolled  before  me — fain 

Would  I  have  whelmed  me  in  its  tide, 
At  once  beneath  the  billowy  main 

My  shame,  my  guilt,  my  crime  to  hide ; 
But  He  was  there ! — He  crossed  my  track, — 
I  dared  not  pass — He  waved  me  back ! 

"And  then  rude  hands  detained  me — sure 

Justice  had  grasped  her  victim — no ! 
Though  powerless,  hopeless,  bound,  secure, 

A  captive  thrall,  it  was  not  so ; 
They  cry,  *  The  Frenchman's  on  the  wave  I' 
The  press  was  hot — and  I  a  slave. 

"  They  dragged  me  o'er  the  vessel's  side ; 

The  world  of  waters  rolled  below ; 
The  gallant  ship  in  all  her  pride 

Of  dreadful  beauty  sought  her  foe ; 
— Thou  saw'st  me,  William,  in  the  strife — 
Alack !  I  bore  a  charmed  life  1 

"  In  vain  the  bullets  round  me  fly. 

In  vain  mine  eager  breast  I  bare ; 
Death  shuns  the  wretch  who  longs  to  die, 

And  every  sword  falls  edgeless  there ! 
Still  He  is  near ; — and  seems  to  cry, 
*  Not  here,  nor  thus,  may  Matcham  die !' — 

"  Thou  saw'st  me  on  that  fearful  day, 

When,  fruitless  all  attempts  to  save, 
Our  pinnace  foundering  in  the  bay, 

The  boat's-crew  met  a  watery  grave, — 
All,  all — save  one — the  ravenous  sea 
That  swallowed  all  rejected  Me  ! 


400  THE  DEAD   DRUMMER. 

"  And  now,  when  fifteen  suns  have  each 

Fulfilled  in  turn  its  circling  year, 
Thrown  back  again  on  England's  beach, 

Our  bark  paid  oflT,  He  drives  me  Here  ! 
I  could  not  die  in  flood  or  fight — 
He  drives  me  Here  ! !" — 

"  And  sarve  you  right  I 

"  What !  bilk  your  commander ! — desart — and  then  rob  I 
And  go  scuttling  a  poor  little  Drummer-boy's  nob ! 
Why,  my  precious  eyes !  what  a  bloodthirsty  swab ! — 

There's  old  Davy  Jones,  who  cracks  Sailors'  bones, 
For  his  jaw-work  would  never,  I'm  sure,  s'elp  me  Bob, 
Have  come  for  to  go  for  to  do  sich  a  job ! 
Hark   ye.  Waters, — or   Matcham, — whichever's  your  purser-- 

name, — 
T'other,  your  own,  is,  I'm  sartain,  the  worser  name, — 
Twelve  years  have  we  lived  on  like  brother  and  brother ; 
Now — your  course  lays  one  way,  and  mine  lays  another  I" — 

"  No,  William,  it  may  not  be  so ; 

"  Blood  calls  for  blood ! — 'tis  Heaven's  decree  1 
And  thou  with  me  this  night  must  go, 

And  give  me  to  the  gallows  tree ! 
Ha !  see — He  smiles.  He  points  the  way ! 

On,  William,  on !  no  more  delay !" 

Now  Bill, — so  the  story,  as  told  to  me,  goes, 

And  who,  as  his  last  speech  sufficiently  shows, 

Was  a  "  regular  trump," — did  not  like  to  "  turn  Nose ;" 

But  then  came  a  thunder-clap  louder  than  any 

Of  those  that  preceded,  though  they  were  so  many ; 

And  hark !  as  its  rumblings  subside  in  a  hum, 

What  sound  mingles  too  ?     By  the  hokey — A  Drum  ! ! 


I  remember  I  once  heard  my  Grandfather  say 
That  some  sixty  years  since  he  was  going  that  way. 


A   LEGEND    OF  SALISBURY  PLAIN.  401 

When  they  showed  him  the  spot 

Where  the  gibbet — was  uot 
On  which  Matcham's  corse  had  been  hung  up  to  rot ; 
It  had  fall'n  down,  but  how  long  before,  he'd  forgot ; 
And  they  told  him,  I  think  at  the  Bear  in  Devizes, 
The  town  where  the  Sessions  are  held, — or  the  'Sizes, — 

That  Matcham  confessed.     And  made  a  clean  breast 
To  the  May'r ;  but  that  after  he'd  had  a  night's  rest. 
And  the  storm  had  subsided,  he  "  pooh-poohed "  his  friend, 
Swearing  all  was  a  lie  from  beginning  to  end  ; 

Said  "he'd  only  been  drunk" —     That  his  spirits  had 
sunk 
At  the  thunder — the  storm  put  him  into  a  funk ; 
That,  in  fact,  he  had  nothing  at  all  on  his  conscience. 
And  found  out,  in  short,  he'd  been  talking  great  nonsense. 

But  now  one  Mr.  Jones     Comes  forth  and  depones 
That  fifteen  years  since  he  had  heard  certain  groans 
On  his  way  to  Stonehenge  (to  examine  the  stones 
Described  in  a  work  of  the  late  Sir  John  Soane's), 

That  he  followed  the  moans.     And,  led  by  their  tones, 
Found  a  Raven  a-picking  a  Drummer-boy's  bones ! 

Then  the  Colonel  wrote  word 

From  the  King's  Forty-third 
That  the  story  was  certainly  true  which  they'd  heard. 
For  that  one  of  their  drummers  and  one  Sergeant  Matcham 
Had  "  brushed  with  the  dibs,"  and  they  never  could  catch  'em. 


So  Justice  was  sure,  though  a  long  time  she'd  lagged, 

And  the  Sergeant,  in  spite  of  his  "  Gammon,"  got  "  scragged ;" 

And  people  averred     That  an  ugly  black  bird — 
The  Raven,  'twas  hinted,  of  whom  we  have  heard. 
Though  the  story,  I  own,  appears  rather  absurd — 
Was  seen  (Gervase  Matcham  not  being  interred) 
To  roost  all  that  night  on  the  murderer's  gibbet, — 
An  odd  thing,  if  so,  and  it  may  be  a  fib ;  it, 
However,  's  a  thing  nature's  laws  don't  prohibit. 
Next  morning,  they  add,  that  "black  gentleman"  flies  out. 
Having  picked  Matcham's  nose  oflf  and  gobbled  his  eyes  out. 
26 


402  THE  DEAD   DRUMMER. 

MORAL. 

Avis  au  Voyageur. 
Imprimis. 

If  you  contemplate  walking  o'er  Salisbury  Plain, 
Consult  Mr.  Murphy,  or  Moore,  and  refrain 
From  selecting  a  day  when  it's  likely  to  rain ! 

2°. 

When  trav'lling,  don't  "  flash"     Your  notes  or  your  cash 
Before  other  people — it's  foolish  and  rash ! 


At  dinner  be  cautious,  and  note  well  your  party ! — 
There's  little  to  dread  where  the  appetite's  hearty ; 
But  mind  and  look  well  to  your  purse  and  your  throttle 
When  you  see  a  man  shirking,  and  passing  his  bottle ! 

A". 

If  you  chance  to  be  needy.    Your  coat  and  hat  seedy, 
In  war-time  especially  never  go  out 
When  you've  reason  to  think  there's  a  press-gang  about ! 

5°. 

Don't  chatter,  nor  tell  people  all  that  you  think. 

Nor  blab  secrets, — especially  when  you're  in  drink ; — 

But  keep  your  own  counsel  in  all  that  you  do ! 

— Or  a  Counsel  may,  some  day  or  other,  keep  you. 

6». 

Discard  superstition !  and  don't  take  a  post, 

If  you  happen  to  see  one  at  night,  for  a  Ghost ! 

Last  of  all,  if  by  choice  or  convenience  you're  led 

To  cut  a  man's  throat  or  demolish  his  head. 

Don't  do't  in  a  thunder-storm — wait  for  the  summer ! 

And  mind,  above  all  things,  the  Man's  not  a  Drummer  ! ! 


A   ROW  IN  AN  OMNIBUS  {BOX).  403 

Among  a  bundle  of  letters  I  find  one  from  Sucklethumbkin, 
dated  from  London,  and  containing  his  version  of  perhaps  the 
greatest  theatrical  Civil  War  since  the  celebrated  "  O.  P.  row." 
As  the  circumstances  are  now  become  matter  of  history,  and 
poor  Doldrum  himself  has  been,  alas !  for  some  time  the  den- 
izen of  a  far  different  "  House,"  I  have  ventured  to  preserve  it. 
Perhaps  it  may  be  unnecessary  to  add  that  my  Honorable 
friend  has  of  late  taken  to  Poetry,  and  goes  without  his  cravat. 

^  l^oiD  [m  an  (J^mnitus  (l3ox). 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  HAYMARKET. 

Omnibus  hoc  vitium  cantoribus. — Hor. 

DOL-DRUM  the  Manager  sits  in  his  chair, 
With  a  gloomy  brow  and  dissatisfied  air, 
And  he  says,  as  he  slaps  his  hand  on  his  knee, 
"  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  Fiddle-de-dee !" — 

"  But  Fiddle-de-dee  sings  clear  and  loud, 

And  his  trills  and  his  quavers  astonish  the  crowd ; 

Such  a  singer  as  he     You'll  nowhere  see : 
They'll  all  be  screaming  for  Fiddle-de-dee !" — 

**  Though  Fiddle-de-dee  sings  loud  and  clear. 
And  his  tones  are  sweet,  yet  his  terms  are  dear ; 

The  '  glove  won't  fit !'     The  deuce  a  bit. 
I  shall  give  an  engagement  to  Fal-de-ral-tit !" 

The  Prompter  bowed,  and  he  went  to  his  stall. 
And  the  green  baize  rose  at  the  Prompter's  call. 
And  Fal-de-ral-tit  sang  fol-de-rol-lol ; 

But  scarce  had  he  done    When  a  "  row  "  begun, 
Such  a  noise  was  never  heard  under  the  sun. 

"  Fiddle-de-dee  I     —Where  is  he  ? 
He's  the  Artiste  whom  we  all  want  to  see ! — 

Dol-drum !  Dol-drum !     Bid  the  Manager  come ! 
It's  a  scandalous  thing;  to  exact  such  a  sum 


404  A   ROW  IN  AN  OMNIBUS  {BOX). 

For  boxes  and  gallery,  stalls  and  pit, 
And  then  fob  us  off  with  a  Fal-de-ral-tit ! 

Deuce  a  bit !     We'll  never  submit ! 
Vive  Fiddle-de-dee !  d  bas  Fal-de-ral-tit !" 

Dol-drum  the  Manager  rose  from  his  chair, 
With  a  gloomy  brow  and  dissatisfied  air ; 

But  he  smoothed  his  brow    As  he  well  knew  how, 
And  he  walked  on,  and  made  a  most  elegant  bow. 
And  he  paused,  and  he  smiled,  and  advanced  to  the  lights, 
In  his  opera  hat,  and  his  opera  tights ; 
"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  then  said  he, 
"  Pray,  what  may  you  please  to  want  with  me  ?" 

"  Fiddle-de-dee !—    Fiddle-de-dee !" 
Folks  of  all  sorts  and  of  every  degree, 
Snob,  and  Snip,  and  haughty  Grandee, 
Duchesses,  Countesses,  fresh  from  their  tea, 
And  Shopmen,  who'd  only  come  there  for  a  spree. 
Hallooed,  and  hooted,  and  roared  with  glee 

"  Fiddle-de-dee !—    None  but  He  !— 
Subscribe  to  his  terms,  whatever  they  be ! — 
Agree,  agree,  or  you'll  very  soon  see 
In  a  brace  of  shakes  we'll  get  up  an  O.  P. !" 

Dol-drum  the  Manager,  full  of  care, 
With  a  gloomy  brow  and  dissatisfied  air, 

Looks  distrest.     And  he  bows  his  best, 
And  he  puts  his  right  hand  on  the  side  of  his  breast, 

And  he  says — says  he,     "  We  can't  agree ; 
His  terms  are  a  vast  deal  too  high  for  me. — 
There's  the  rent,  and  the  rates,  and  the  sesses,  and  taxes — 
I  can't  afford  Fiddle-de-dee  what  he  axes. 

If  you'll  only  permit    Fal-de-ral-tit " 

The  "Generous  Public"  cried  "Deuce  a  bit! 

Dol-drum  ! — Dol-drum  ! —     We'll  none  of  us  come. 
It's  'No  Go !'— it's  ' Gammon !'— it's  ' all  a  Hum :'— 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  HAYMARKET.  405 

You're  a  miserly  Jew ! —    '  Cock-a-doodle-do !' 
He  don't  ask  too  much,  as  you  know — so  you  do — 
It's  a  shame — it's  a  sin — it's  really  too  bad — 
You  ought  to  be  'shamed  of  yourself — so  you  had !" 

Dol-drum  the  Manager  never  before 

In  his  lifetime  had  heard  such  a  wild  uproar. 

Dol-drum  the  Manager  turned  to  flee ; 

But  he  says — says  he,     "  Mort  de  ma  vie  ! 
I  shall  nevare  engage  vid  dat  Fiddle-de-dee !" 
Then  all  the  gentlefolks  flew  in  a  rage, 
And  they  jumped  from  the  Omnibus  on  to  the  Stage, 
Lords,  Squires,  and  Knights,  they  came  down  to  the  lights, 
In  their  opera  hats,  and  their  opera  tights. 

Ma'am'selle  Cherrytoes     Shook  to  her  very  toes. 
She  couldn't  hop  on,  so  hopped  ofl*  on  her  merry  toes  ; 
And  the  "  evening  concluded  "  with  "  Three  times  three !" 
"  Hip— hip !— hurrah !  for  Fiddle-de-dee !" 

Dol-drum  the  Manager,  full  of  care. 
With  a  troubled  brow  and  dissatisfied  air, 

Saddest  of  men,     Sat  down,  and  then 
Took  from  his  table  a  Perry  an  pen, 

And  he  wrote  to  the  "  News  " 

How  Mac  Fuze  and  Tregooze, 
Lord  Tomnoddy,  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  of  the  Blues, 
And  the  whole  of  their  tail,  and  the  separate  crews 
Of  the  Tags  and  the  Rags,  and  the  No-one-knows-whos, 
Had  combined  Monsieur  Fal-de-ral-tit  to  abuse, 

And  make  Dol-drum  agree    With  Fiddle-de-dee, 
Who  was  not  a  bit  better  singer  than  he. 
— Dol-drum  declared  "  he  never  could  see. 
For  the  life  of  him,  yet,  why  Fiddle-de-dee, 

Who  in  B  flat,  or  C,     Or  whatever  the  key, 
Could  never  at  any  time  get  below  G, 
Should  expect  a  fee  the  same  in  degree 
As  the  great  Burlybumbo  who  sings  double  D." 
Then  slyly  he  added  a  little  N.  B., 
"  If  they'd  have  him  in  Paris  he'd  not  come  to  me !" 


406  A   ROW  m  AN  OMNIBUS  {BOX). 

The  Manager  rings,    And  the  Prompter  springs 
To  his  side  in  a  jifFy,  and  with  him  he  brings 
A  set  of  those  odd-looking  envelope  things, 
Where  Britannia  (who  seems  to  be  crucified)  flings 
To  her  right  and  her  left  funny  people  with  wings 
Amongst  Elephants,  Quakers,  and  Catabaw  Kings ; 

And  a  taper  and  wax    And  small  Queen's  heads  in  packs, 
"Which,  when  notes  are  too  big,  you're  to  stick  on  their  backs. 
Dol-drum  the  Manager  sealed  with  care 
The  letter  and  copies  he'd  written  so  fair. 
And  sat  himself  down  with  a  satisfied  air ; 

Without  delay  He  sent  them  away. 
In  time  to  appear  in  "  our  columns"  next  day ! 

Dol-drum  the  Manager,  full  of  care, 

Walked  on  to  the  stage  with  an  anxious  air, 

And  peeped  through  the  curtain  to  see  who  were  there. 

There  was  Mac  Fuze,     And  Lieutenant  Tregooze, 
And  there  was  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  of  the  Blues, 
And  the  Tags,  and  the  Rags,  and  the  No-one-knows-whos ; 
And  the  green  baize  rose  at  the  Prompter's  call, 
And  they  all  began  to  hoot,  bellow,  and  bawl, 
And  cry  "  Cock-a-doodle,"  and  scream  and  squall 

"  Dol-drum  ! — Dol-drum ! —     Bid  the  Manager  come !" 

You'd  have  thought  from  the  tones 

Of  their  hisses  and  groans. 
They  were  bent  upon  breaking  his  (Opera)  bones. 
And  Dol-drum  comes,  and  he  says — says  he, 
"  Pray,  what  may  you  please  to  want  with  me?" — 

"  Fiddle-de-dee !—  Fiddle-de-dee  !— 
We'll  have  nobody  give  us  sol  fa  but  He ! 
For  he's  the  Artiste  whom  we  all  want  to  see." 

— Manager  Dol-drum  says — says  he 

(And  he  looks  like  an  owl  in  "  a  hollow  beech-tree") — 

"  Well,  since  I  see    The  thing  must  be, 
I'll  sign  an  agreement  with  Fiddle-de-dee !" 

Then  Mac  Fuze,  and  Tregooze,     And  Jenks  of  the  Blues, 
And  the  Tags,  and  the  Rags,  and  the  No-one-knows-whos, 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  HAY  MARKET.  407 

Extremely  delighted  to  hear  such  good  news, 
Desist  from  their  shrill  "  Cock-a-doodle-doos." 

"  Vive  Fiddle-de-dee !     Dol-drum  and  He ! 
They  are  jolly  good  fellows  as  ever  need  be ! 
And  so's  Burlybumbo,  who  sings  double  D ! 
And  whenever  they  sing,  why,  we'll  all  come  and  see !" 

So,  after  all     This  terrible  squall. 

Fiddle-de-dee     's  at  the  top  of  the  tree, 
And  Dol-drum  and  Fal-de-ral-tit  sing  small ! 
Now  Fiddle-de-dee  sings  loud  and  clear. 
At  I  can't  tell  you  how  many  thousands  a  year, 
And  Fal-de-ral-tit  is  considered  "  Small  Beer ;" 

And  Ma'am'selle  Cherrytoes     Sports  her  merry  toes, 
Dancing  away  to  the  fiddles  and  flutes, 
In  what  the  folks  call  a  "  Lithuanian  "  in  boots. 

So  here's  an  end  to  my  one,  two,  and  three ; 
And  bless  the  Queen — and  long  live  She ! 
And  grant  that  there  never  again  may  be 
Such  a  halliballoo  as  we've  happened  to  see 
About  nothing  on  earth  but  "  Fiddle-de-dee !" 


"We  come  now  to  the  rummaging  of  Father  John's  stores. 
The  extracts  which  I  shall  submit  from  them  are  of  the  same 
character  as  those  formerly  derived  from  the  same  source,  and 
may  be  considered  as  theologico-historical,  or  Tracts  for  his  times. 

With  respect  to  the  first  legend  on  this  list,  I  have  to  remark 
that,  though  the  good  Father  is  silent  on  the  subject,  there  is 
every  reason  to  believe  that  the  "little  curly-wigged "  gentle- 
man who  plays,  though  passively,  so  prominent  a  part  in  it, 
had  Ingoldsby  blood  in  his  veins.  This  conjecture  is  supported 
by  the  fact  of  the  arms  of  Scroope,  impaling  Ingoldsby,  being 
found,  as  in  the  Bray  case,  in  one  of  the  windows,  and  by  a  very 
old  marriage-settlement  nearly,  or  quite,  illegible,  a  fac  simile 
of  the  seal  affixed  to  which  is  appended  to  this  true  history. 


408  THE  LAY  OF  ST.   CUTHBERT. 

Cf)c  Hag  of  St  OTutPert; 

.    OE,   THE    DEVIL'S    DINNEE-PAETY. 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  NORTH  COUNTREE. 

Nobilis  quidam,  cui  noraen  Monsr.  Lescrop,  Chivaler,  cum  invitasset  convivas,  et, 
hora  convivii  jam  instante  et  apparatu  facto,  spe  frustratus  esset,  excusantibus  se  con- 
vivis  cur  non  compararent,  prorupit  iratus  in  hsec  verba :  "  Veniaiit  igitur  omnes  dcB' 
mones,  si  nullus  hominum  mecum  esse  potest  J" 

Quod  cum  fieret,  et  Dominus,  et  famuli,  et  ancillee,  a  domo  properantes,  forte  obliti, 
infantem  in  cunis  jacentem  secum  non  auferunt.  Daemones  incipiunt  comessari  et 
vociferari,  prospicereque  per  fenestras  formis  ursorum,  luporum,  felium,  et  monstrare 
pocula  vino  repleta.  Ah,  inquit  pater,  ubi  infans  nietisf  Vix  cum  hsec  disisset,  unus 
ex  Dsemonibus  ulnis  suis  infantem  ad  fenestram  gestat,  etc. — Chronicon  de  Bolton. 

IT'S  in  Bolton  Hall,  and  the  clock  strikes  One, 
And  the  roast  meat's  brown  and  the  boiled  meat's  done, 
And  the  barbecued  sucking-pig's  crisped  to  a  turn. 
And  the  pancakes  are  fried,  and  beginning  to  burn ; 

The  fat  stubble-goose     Swims  in  gravy  and  juice, 
With  the  mustard  and  apple-sauce  ready  for  use ; 
Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  and  all  of  the  best, 
AVant  nothing  but  eating — they're  all  ready  drest ; 
But  where  is  the  Host,  and  where  is  the  Guest  ? 

Pantler  and  serving-man,  henchman  and  page, 
Stand  sniffing  the  duck-stuffing  (onion  and  sage), 

And  the  scullions  and  cooks,     With  fidgety  looks. 
Are  grumbling  and  mutt'ring,  and  scowling  as  black 
As  cooks  always  do  when  the  dinner's  put  back ; 
For  though  the  board's  deckt,  and  the  napery,  fair 
As  the  unsunned  snowflake,  is  spread  out  with  care, 
And  the  dais  is  furnished  with  stool  and  with  chair, 
And  plate  of  orfeverie  costly  and  rare. 
Apostle-spoons,  salt-cellar,  all  are  there, 

And  Mess  John  in  his  place.     With  his  rubicund  face, 
And  his  hands  ready  folded,  prepared  to  say  Grace ; 
Yet  where  is  the  Host  ?  and  his  convives — where  ? 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  NORTH   COUNTREE.  409 

The  Scroope  sits  lonely  in  Bolton  Hall, 

And  he  watches  the  dial  that  hangs  by  the  wall ; 

He  watches  the  large  hand,  he  watches  the  small. 

And  he  fidgets,  and  looks     As  cross  as  the  cooks, 
And  he  utters — a  word  that  we'll  soften  to  "  Zooks !" 
And  he  cries,  "  What  on  earth  has  become  of  them  all  ? — 

What  can  delay     De  Vaux  and  De  Saye  ? 
What  makes  Sir  Gilbert  de  Umfraville  stay  ? 
AVhat's  gone  with  Poyntz,  and  Sir  Reginald  Braye  ? 
Why  are  Ralph  Ufford  and  Marny  away  ? 
And  De  Nokes,  and  De  Styles,  and  Lord  Marmaduke  Grey, 

And  De  Roe,     And  De  Doe  ? — 
Poynings,  and  Vavasour,  where  be  they  ? 
Fitz-Walter,  Fitz-Osborn,  Fitz-Hugh,  and  Fitz-John, 
And  the  Mandevilles,  ^ere  etfih  (father  and  son)  ? 
Their  cards  said  '  Dinner  precisely  at  one ' ! 

There's  nothing  I  hate,  in     The  world,  like  waiting  I 
It's  a  monstrous  great  bore,  when  a  Gentleman  feels 
A  good  appetite,  thus  to  be  kept  from  his  meals !" 

It's  in  Bolton  Hall,  and  the  clock  strikes  Two ! 
And  the  scullions  and  cooks  are  themselves  "  in  a  stew," 
And  the  kitchen-maids  stand,  and  don't  know  what  to  do, 
For  the  rich  plum-puddings  are  bursting  their  bags. 
And  the  mutton  and  turnips  are  boiling  to  rags. 

And  the  fish  is  all  spoiled.     And  the  butter's  all  oiled, 
And  the  soup's  got  cold  in  the  silver  tureen, 
And  there's  nothing,  in  short,  that  is  fit  to  be  seen ! 
While  Sir  Guy  Le  Scroope  continues  to  fume 
And  to  fret  by  himself  in  the  tapestried  room. 

And  still  fidgets,  and  looks     More  cross  than  the  cooks. 
And  repeats  that  bad  word  which  we've  softened  to  "  Zooks !" 

Two  o'clock's  come,  and  Two  o'clock's  gone. 
And  the  large  and  the  small  hands  move  steadily  on ; 
Still  nobody's  there,     No  De  Roos  or  De  Clare, 
To  taste  of  the  Scroope's  most  delicate  fare. 
Or  to  quafi"  off  a  health  unto  Bolton's  Heir, 


4lO  THE  LAY  OF  ST.   CUTHBERT. 

That  nice  little  boy  who  sits  there  in  his  chair, 
Some  four  years  old,  and  a  few  months  to  spare. 
With  his  laughing  blue  eyes,  and  his  long  curly  hair, 
Now  sucking  his  thumb,  and  now  munching  his  pear. 

Again  Sir  Guy  the  silence  broke, 

"  It's  hard  upon  Three ! — it's  just  on  the  stroke ! 

Come,  serve  up  the  dinner ! — A  joke  is  a  joke !" — 

Little  he  deems  that  Stephen  de  Hoaques,* 

Who  "  his  fun,"  as  the  Yankees  say,  everywhere  "  pokes," 

And  is  always  a  great  deal  too  fond  of  his  jokes, 

Has  written  a  circular  note  to  De  Nokes, 

And  De  Styles,  and  De  Roe,  and  the  rest  of  the  folks. 

One  and  all,     Great  and  small. 
Who  were  asked  to  the  Hall 
To  dine  there  and  sup,  and  wind  up  with  a  ball, 
And  had  told  all  the  party  a  great  bouncing  lie,  he 
Cooked  up,  that  "  the  fete  was  postponed  sine  die. 
The  dear  little  curly-wigged  heir  of  Le  Scroope 
Being  taken  alarmingly  ill  with  the  croup !" 

When  the  clock  struck  Three,    And  the  Page,  on  his  knee. 
Said  "  An't  please  you.  Sir  Guy  Le  Scroope,  On  a  servi  /" 
And  the  Knight  found  the  banquet-hall  empty  and  clear. 

With  nobody  near     To  partake  of  his  cheer. 
He  stamped,  and  he  stormed — then  his  language ! — Oh  dear ! 
'Twas  awful  to  see,  and  'twas  awful  to  hear ! 
And  he  cried  to  the  button-decked  Page  at  his  knee, 
Who  had  told  him  so  civilly  "  On  a  servi," 
"  Ten  thousand  fiends  seize  them,  wherever  they  be ! 
— The  Devil  take  them  /  and  the  Devil  take  thee  ! 
And  the  Devil  may  eat  up  the  dinner  for  me  ! !" 


*  For  a  full  account  of  this  facetious  "  Chivaler,"  see  the  late  (oh !  that  we  should 
have  to  say  "late!")  Theodore  Hook's  "History  of  the  illustrious  Commoners  of  Great 
Britain,"  as  quoted  in  the  Memoirs  of  John  Bragg,  Esq.,  page  344  of  the  75th  Volume 
of  tlie  Standard  Novels.  In  the  third  volume  of  Sir  Harris  Nicolas's  elaborate  account 
of  the  Scroope  and  Grosvenor  controversy,  commonly  called  the  "Scrope  Roll,"  a 
Stephen  de  Hoques,  Ecuyer,  is  described  as  giving  his  testimony  on  the  Grosvenor 
side. 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  NORTH  COUNTREE.  411 

111  a  terrible  fume     He  bounced  out  of  the  room, 
He  bounced  out  of  the  house — and  page,  footman,  and  groom, 
Bounced  after  their  master  ;  for  scarce  had  they  heard 
Of  this  left-handed  Grace  the  last  finishing  word, 
Ere  the  horn  at  the  gate  of  the  Barbican  tower 
Was  blown  with  a  loud  twenty-trumpeter  power. 

And  in  rushed  a  troop     Of  strange  guests ! — such  a  group 
As  had  ne'er  before  darkened  the  door  of  the  Scroope ! 

This  looks  like  De  Saye — yet — it  is  not  De  Saye — 

And  this  is — no,  'tis  not — Sir  Reginald  Braye — 

This  has  somewhat  the  favor  of  Marmaduke  Grey — 

But  stay ! — Where  on  earth  did  he  get  those  long  nails? 

Why,  they're  claws! — then — Good  Gracious! — they've  all  of 

them  tails! 
That  can't  be  De  Vaux — why,  his  nose  is  a  bill. 
Or,  I  would  say,  a  beak ! — and  he  can't  keep  it  still ! — 
Is  that  Poynings  ? — Oh,  Gemini ! — look  at  his  feet ! ! 
Why,  they're  absolute  hoofs  ! — is  it  gout  or  his  corns 
That  have  crumpled  them  up  so  ? — by  Jingo,  he's  horns  ! 
Run !  run ! — There's  Fitz-Walter,  Fitz-Hugh,  and  Fitz-John, 
And  the  Mandevilles,  pere  et  fils  (father  and  son), 
And  Fitz-Osbert,  and  UflTord — they've  all  got  them  on  ! 

Then  their  great  saucer  eyes —    It's  the  Father  of  lies 
And  his  imps — run !  run !  run ! — they're  all  fiends  in  disguise, 
Who've  partly  assumed,  with  more  sombre  complexions. 
The  forms  of  Sir  Guy  Le  Scroope's  friends  and  connections, 
And  He,  at  the  top  there — that  grim-looking  elf — 
Run!  run!  that's  the  "muckle-horned  Clootie"  himself! 

And  now  what  a  din     Without  and  within ! 
For  the  courtyard  is  full  of  them.     How  they  begin 
To  mop,  and  to  mowe,  and  make  faces,  and  grin ! 

Cock  their  tails  up  together.     Like  cows  in  hot  weather, 
And  butt  at  eact  other,  all  eating  and  drinking, 
The  viands  and  wine  disappearing  like  winking. 

And  then  such  a  lot     As  together  had  got ! 
Master  Cabbage,  the  steward,  who'd  made  a  machine 
To  calculate  with,  and  count  noses, — I  ween 


412  THE  LAY  OF  ST.    CUTE  BERT. 

The  cleverest  thing  of  the  kind  ever  seen, — 

Declared,  when  he'd  made,     By  the  said  machine's  aid, 
Up  what's  now  called  the  "  tottle  "  of  those  he  surveyed, 
There  were  just — how  he  proved  it  I  cannot  divine — 
Nine  thousand,  nine  hundred,  and  ninety,  and  nine. 

Exclusive  of  Him     Who,  giant  in  limb, 
And  black  as  the  crow  they  denominate  Jim, 
With  a  tail  like  a  bull,  and  a  head  like  a  bear. 
Stands  forth  at  the  window, — and  what  holds  he  there, 

Which  he  hugs  with  such  care,     And  pokes  out  in  the  air, 
And  grasps  as  its  limbs  from  each  other  he'd  tear  ? 

Oh  !  grief  and  despair !     I  vow  and  declare 
It's  Le  Scroope's  poor,  dear,  sweet  little  curly-wigged  Heir ! 
Whom  the  nurse  had  forgot,  and  left  there  in  his  chair, 
Alternately  sucking  his  thumb  and  his  pear ! 


What  words  can  express     The  dismay  and  distress 
Of  Sir  Guy,  when  he  found  what  a  terrible  mess 
His  cursing  and  banning  had  now  got  him  into  ? 
That  words,  which  to  use  are  a  shame  and  a  sin  too. 
Had  thus  on  their  speaker  recoiled,  and  his  malison 
Placed  in  the  hands  of  the  Devil's  own  "  pal "  his  son  ! — 

He  sobbed  and  he  sighed.    And  he  screamed  and  he  cried, 
And  behaved  like  a  man  that  is  mad,  or  in  liquor, — he 
Tore  his  peaked  beard,  and  he  dashed  off  his  "  Vicary,"* 

Stamped  on  the  jasey     As  though  he  were  crazy, 
And  staggering  about  just  as  if  he  were  "  hazy," 


*  A  peruke  so  named  from  its  Inventor.  Robert  de  Ros  and  Eudo  Fitz-Vicari  were 
celebrated  perruquiers,  who  flourished  in  the  eleventh  century.  The  latter  is  noticed 
in  the  Battle-Abbey  roll,  and  is  said  to  have  curled  William  the  Conqueror's  hair  when 
dressing  for  the  battle  of  Hastings.  Dugdale  makes  no  mention  of  him,  but  Camden 
says  that  Humfrcy,  one  of  his  descendants,  was  summoned  to  Parliament,  2G  Jan.  25 
Edw.  I.  (1297).  It  is  doubtful,  however,  whether  that  writ  can  be  deemed  a  regular 
writ  of  summons  to  Parliament,  for  reasons  amply  detailed  in  the  "Synopsis  of  the 
British  Peerage"  (Art.  Fitz-John).  A  writ  was  subsequently  addressed  to  him  as 
"  Humjnj  Fiiz-  Vicari  Chivr."  8  Jan.  6  Edw.  II.  (1313),  and  his  descendants  appear  to  have 
been  regularly  summoned  as  late  as  5  and  G  of  Philip  and  Mary,  1557-8.  Soon  after 
which  Peter  Fitz-Vicari  dying,  s.  P.  m.,  this  barony  went  into  abeyance  between  his 
two  daughters,  Joan,  married  to  Henry  dc  Truofit  of  Fullbottom,  and  Alice,  wife  of 
Roger  Wigram,  of  Caxon  Hall,  in  Wigton,  co.  Cumb.,  Esq.,  among  whose  representatives 
it  is  presumed  to  be  still  in  abeyance. 


A   LEGEND   OF  THE  NORTH  COUNTREE.  413 

Cxclaimed,  "  Fifty  pounds  "  (a  large  sum  in  those  times) 
To  the  person,  whoever  he  may  be,  that  climbs 
?o  that  windo^v  above  there,  en  ogive,  and  painted, 
Lnd  brings  down  my  curly-wi' "  here  Sir  Guy  fainted ! 

With  many  a  moan.     And  many  a  groan, 
V^hat  with  tweaks  of  the  nose,  and  some  eau  de  Cologne, 
le  revived, — Reason  once  more  remounted  her  throne, 
)r  rather  the  instinct  of  Nature — 'twere  treason 
?o  Her,  in  the  Scroope's  case,  perhaps,  to  say  Eeason, — 
5ut  what  saw  he  then  ? — Oh  !  my  goodness  !  a  sight 
i^nough  to  have  banished  his  reason  outright ! — 

In  that  broad  banquet  hall     The  fiends  one  and  all, 
legardless  of  shriek,  and  of  squeak,  and  of  squall, 
^'rom  one  to  another  were  tossing  that  small, 
'retty,  curly -wigged  boy,  as  if  playing  at  ball : 
let  none  of  his  friends  or  his  vassals  might  dare 
Co  fly  to  the  rescue,  or  rush  up  the  stair, 
\.nd  bring  down  in  safety  his  curly-wigged  Heir ! 

Well-a-day !     Well-a-day  !     All  he  can  say 
!s  but  just  so  much  trouble  and  time  thrown  away : 
!^ot  a  man  can  be  tempted  to  join  the  melee; 
j^'en  those  words  cabalistic,  "  I  promise  to  pay 
j'ifty  pounds  on  demand,"  have  for  once  lost  their  sway, 

And  there  the  Knight  stands,     Wringing  his  hands 
.n  his  agony — when,  on  a  sudden,  one  ray 
3f  hope    darts   through   his   midriff! — His   Saint! — Oh,   it's 
funny. 

And  almost  absurd,     That  it  never  occurred ! — 
'Ay!    the   Scroope's    patron    Saint! — he's   the  man   for  my 


money 


5aint — who  is  it  ? — really  I'm  sadly  to  blame, — 

3n  my  word  I'm  afraid, — I  confess  it  with  shame, — 

rhat  I've  almost  forgot  the  good  Gentleman's  name, — 

Z!ut — let  me  see — Cutbeard? — no ! — Cuthbert  ! — egad ! 

5t.  Cuthbert  of  Bolton !— I'm  right— he's  the  lad  !— 

3h,  holy  St.  Cuthbert,  if  forebears  of  mine — 

3f  myself  I  say  little — have  knelt  at  your  shrine, 


414  THE  LAY  OF  ST.   CVTIIBERT. 

And  have  lashed  their  bare  backs,  and — no  matter — with 
twine, 

Oh  I  list  to  the  vow     Which  I  make  to  you  now  : 
Only  snatch  my  poor  little  boy  out  of  the  row 
Which  that  Imp's  kicking  up  with  his  fiendish  bow-wow, 
And  his  head  like  a  bear,  and  his  tail  like  a  cow ! 
Bring  him  back  here  in  safety ! — perform  but  this  task, 
And  I'll  give — oh !  I'll  give  you  whatever  you  ask ! 

There  is  not  a  shrine    In  the  County  shall  shine 
With  a  brilliancy  half  so  resplendent  as  thine, 
Or  have  so  many  candles,  or  look  half  so  fine ! 
Haste,  holy  St.  Cuthbert,  then, — hasten,  in  pity !" 

— Conceive  his  surprise     When  a  strange  voice  replies, 
"  It's  a  bargain ! — but  mind,  sir,  the  best  spermaceti  !" 
Say,  whose  that  voice  ?  whose  that  form  by  his  side  ? — 
That  old,  old  gray  man,  with  his  beard  long  and  wide. 

In  his   coarse  Palmer's  weeds.     With  his  cockle  and 
beads  ? — 
And  how  did  he  come  ? — did  he  walk  ?  did  he  ride  ? 
Oh !  none  could  determine — oh !  none  could  decide ; 
The  fact  is,  I  don't  believe  any  one  tried, — 
For,  while  ev'ry  one  stared,  with  a  dignified  stride, 

And  without  a  word  more.     He  marched  on  before. 
Up  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  and  so  through  the  front  door, 
To  the  banqueting-hall,  that  was  on  the  first  floor. 
While  the  fiendish  assembly  were  making  a  rare 
Little  shuttlecock  there  of  the  curly-wigged  Heir. 
— I  wish,  gentle  Reader,  that  you  could  have  seen 
The  pause  that  ensued  when  he  stepped  in  between. 
With  his  resolute  air  and  his  dignified  mien. 
And  said,  in  a  tone  most  decided,  though  mild, 
"  Come — I'll  trouble  you  just  to  hand  over  that  child !" 


The  Demoniac  crowd     In  an  instant  seemed  cowed,- 
Not  one  of  the  crew  volunteered  a  reply ; 
All  shrunk  from  the  glance  of  that  keen-flashing  eye. 
Save  one  horrid  Humgruffin,  who  seemed  by  his  talk. 
And  the  airs  he  assumed,  to  be  Cock  of  the  walk : 


A   LEGEND   OF  THE  NORTH  COUNTREE.  415 

He  quailed  not  before  it,  but  saucily  met  it, 

And  as  saucily  said,  "  Don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it  ?" 

My  goodness !  the  look  that  the  old  Palmer  gave ! 

And  his  frown !  'twas  quite  dreadful  to  witness — "  Why,  slave ! 

You  rascal !"  quoth  he,     "  This  language  to  me  ! ! 
— At  once,  Mr.  Nicholas,  down  on  your  knee, 
And  hand  me  that  curly-wigged  boy ! — I  command  it ! 
Come — none  of  your  nonsense !  you  know  I  won't  stand  it." 

Old  Nicholas  trembled  ;  he  shook  in  his  shoes, 
And  seemed  half  inclined,  but  afraid,  to  refuse. 

"  Well,  Cuthbert,"  said  he,     "  If  so  it  must  be— 
For  you've  had  your  own  way  from  the  first  time  I  knew  ye — 
Take  your  curly-wigged  brat,  and  much  good  may  he  do  ye ! 
But  I'll  have  in  exchange  " — here  his  eye  flashed  with  rage — 
"  That  chap  with  the  buttons :  he  gave  me  the  Page !" 

"  Come,  come,"  the  Saint  answered,  "  you  very  well  know 
The  young  man's  no  more  his  than  your  own  to  bestow — 
Touch  one  button  of  his  if  you  dare,  Nick ! — no !  no ! 
Cut  your  stick,  sir !  come,  mizzle !  be  ofi*  with  you  !  go !" 

The  devil  grew  hot—     "  If  I  do  I'll  be  shot ! 
An  you  come  to  that,  Cuthbert,  I'll  tell  you  what's  what : 
He  has  ashed  us  to  dine  here,  and  go  we  will  not ! 

Why,  you  Skinflint,  at  least    You  may  leave  us  the  feast ! 
Here  we've  come  all  that  way  from  our  brimstone  abode — 
Ten  million  good  leagues,  sir,  as  ever  you  strode — 
And  the  deuce  of  a  luncheon  we've  had  on  the  road. 
*  Go !'  *  mizzle !'  indeed !     Mr.  Saint,  who  are  you, 
I  should  like  to  know  ?    '  Go !'— I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do  I 
He  invited  us  all :  we've  a  right  here ;  it's  known 
That  a  Baron  may  do  what  he  likes  with  his  own. 
Here,  Asmodeus,  a  slice  of  that  beef ;  now  the  mustard ! — 
What  have  you  got  ? — oh,  apple-pie ;  try  it  with  custard !" 

The  Saint  made  a  pause,    As  uncertain,  because 
He  knew  Nick  is  pretty  well  "  up  "  in  the  laws, 


416  TEE  LAY  OF  ST.    CUTE  BERT. 

Aud  they  miglxi  be  on  his  side;  and  then,  he'd  such  claws  1 
On  the  whole,  it  was  better,  he  thought,  to  retire 
With  the  curly-wigged  boy  he'd  picked  out  of  the  fire, 
And  give  up  the  victuals — to  retrace  his  path, 
And  to  compromise  (spite  of  the  Member  for  Bath). 


So  to  Old  Nick's  appeal,    As  he  turned  on  his  heel 
He  replied,  "  Well,  I'll  leave  you  the  mutton  and  veal. 
And  the  soup  a  la  Berne,  and  the  sauce  Bechamel. 
As  the  Scroope  did  invite  you  to  dinner,  I  feel 
I  can't  well  turn  you  out — 'twould  be  hardly  genteel ; 
But  be  moderate,  pray, — and  remember  thus  much : 
Since  you're  treated  as  Gentlemen,  show  yourselves  such, 

And  don't  make  it  late,     But  mind  and  go  straight 
Home  to  bed  when  you've  finished  ;  and  don't  steal  the  plate. 
Nor  wrench  off  the  knocker  or  bell  from  the  gate. 
Walk  away,  like  respectable  Devils,  in  peace. 
And  don't  '  lark '  with  the  watch  or  annoy  the  police !" 


Having  thus  said  his  say.     That  Palmer  gray 
Took  up  little  Le  Scroope  and  walked  coolly  away, 
While  the  Demons  all  set  up  a  "  Hip !  hip !  hurray !" 
Then  fell,  tooth  and  claw,  on  the  victuals,  as  they 
Had  been  guests  at  Guildhall  upon  Lord  Mayor's  day. 
All  scrambling  and  scuffling  for  what  was  before  'em, 
No  care  for  precedence  or  common  decorum. 

Few  ate  more  hearty     Than  Madame  Astarte, 
And  Hecate, — considered  the  Belles  of  the  party. 
Between  them  was  seated  Leviathan,  eager 
To  "  do  the  polite,"  and  take  wine  with  Belphegor ; 
Here  was  Morbleu  (a  French  devil)  supping  soup-meagre, 
And  there,  munching  leeks,  Davy  Jones  of  Tredegar 
(A  Welsh  one),  who'd  left  the  domains  of  Ap  Morgan 
To  "  follow  the  sea ;"  and  next  him  Demogorgon  ; 
Then  Pan  with  his  pipes,  and  Fauns  grinding  the  organ 
To  Mammon  and  Belial,  and  half  a  score  dancers, 
Who'd  pined  with  Medusa  to  get  up  "  the  Lancers." 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  NORTH  CO  UN  TREE.  417 

lere's  Lucifer  lying  blind  drunk  with  Scotch  ale, 
Vhile  Beelzebub's  tying  huge  knots  in  his.  tail ; 
'here's  Setebos  storming  because  Mephistopheles 

Gave  him  the  lie,     Said  he'd  "  blacken  his  eye," 
Lud  dashed  in  his  face  a  whole  cup  of  hot  coffee-lees. 

— Ranting  and  roaring,     Hiccoughing,  snoring, 
fever  was  seen  such  a  riot  before  in 
L  gentleman's  house,  or  such  profligate  revelling 
Lt  any  soiree — where  they  don't  let  the  devil  in. 


Hark ! — as  sure  as  fate     The  clock's  striking  Eight 
An  hour  which  our  ancestors  called  "getting  late"), 
Vhen  Nick,  who  by  this  time  was  rather  elate, 
lose  up  and  addressed  them.     "  'Tis  full  time,"  he  said, 
For  all  elderly  Devils  to  be  in  their  bed. 
i'or  my  own  part,  I  mean  to  be  jogging,  because 
don't  find  myself  now  c^uite  so  young  as  I  was ; 
5ut,  Gentlemen,  ere  I  depart  from  my  post, 
must  call  on  you.  all  for  one  bumper ;  the  toast 
Vhich  I  have  to  propose  is — Our  Excellent  Host  ! 
—Many  thanks  for  his  kind  hospitality ! — may 

We  also  be  able     To  see  at  our  table 
limself,  and  enjoy,  in  a  family  way, 
lis  good  company  down  stairs  at  no  distant  day ! 

You'd,  I'm  sure,  think  me  rude     If  I  did.  not  include 
^n  the  toast  my  young  friend  there,  the  curly-wigged  Heir ! 
3e's  in  very  good  hands,,  for  you're  all  well  aware 
Chat  St.  Cuthbert  has  taken  him  under  his  care ; 
Though  I  must  not  say  *  bless ' — 
Why,  you'll  easily  guess — 
!^ay  our  curly-wigged  friend's  shadow  never  be  less !" 
S'ick  took  off  his  heel-taps,  bowed,  smiled  with  an  air 
VTost  graciously  grim — and  vacated  the  chair. 


Of  course  the  elite     Rose  at  once  on  their  feet, 
^nd  followed  their  leader,  and  beat  a  retreat ; 
When  a  skylarking  Imp  took  the  President's  seat, 
27 


418  THE  LAY  OF  ST.    CUTHBERT. 

And,  requesting  that  each  would  replenish  his  cup, 
Said,  "  Where  we  have  dined,  my  boys,  there  let  us  sup !' 
— It  was  three  in  the  morning  before  they  broke  up ! ! ! 


I  scarcely  need  say     Sir  Guy  didn't  delay 
To  fulfill  his  vow  made  to  St.  Cuthbert,  or  pay 
For  the  candles  he'd  promised,  or  make  light  as  day 
The  shrine  he  assured  him  he'd  render  so  gay. 
In  fact,  when  the  votaries  came  there  to  pray. 
All  said  there  was  nought  to  compare  with  it — nay, 

For  fear  that  the  Abbey     Might  think  he  was  shabby. 
Four  Brethren  thenceforward,  two  cleric,  two  lay. 
He  ordained  should  take  charge  of  a  new-founded  chantry. 
With  six  marcs  apiece,  and  some  claims  on  the  pantry ; 

In  short,  the  whole  County    Declared,  through  his  bounty 
The  Abbey  of  Bolton  exhibited  fresh  scenes 
From  any  displayed  since  Sir  William  de  Meschines* 
And  Cecily  lioumeli  came  to  this  nation 
With  William  the  Norman,  and  laid  its  foundation. 

For  the  rest,  it  is  said,     And  I  know  I  have  read 
In  some  Chronicle — whose,  has  gone  out  of  my  head — 
That,  what  with  these  candles,  and  other  expenses 
Which  no  man  would  go  to  if  quite  in  his  senses, 

He  reduced  and  brought  low     His  property  so, 
That,  at  last,  he'd  not  much  of  it  left  to  bestow ; 
And  that,  many  years  after  that  terrible  feast. 
Sir  Guy,  in  the  Abbey,  was  living  a  priest ; 
And  there,  in  one  thousand  and — something — deceased. 

(It's  supposed  by  this  trick     He  bamboozled  Old  Nick, 
And  slipped  through  his  fingers  remarkably  "  slick.") 
While,  as  to  young  Curly-wig, — dear  little  Soul, 
Would  you  know  more  of  him,  you  must  look  at  "  The  Roll," 

Which  records  the  dispute.     And  the  subsequent  suit, 
Commenced  in  "  Thirteen  sev'nty-five," — which  took  root 

*  Vide  Dugdalu's  Monasticon,  Art.  Pricyratus  de  Bolton,  in  agro  Ehoracensi. 


A  LEGEND   OF  TEE  NORTH  COUNTREE.  419 

[n  Le  Grosveaor's  assuming  the  arms  Le  Scroope  swore 

Ihat  noue  but  his  ancestors,  ever  before, 

[n  foray,  joust,  battle,  or  tournament  wore, 

lo  wit,  "  On  a  Prussian-blue  Field,  a  Bend  Or;'' 

While  the  Grosveuor  averred  that  his  ancestor  bore 

rhe  same,  and  Scroope  lied  like  a — somebody  tore 

3ff  the  simile, — so  I  can  tell  you  no  more, 

rill  some  A  double  S  shall  the  fragment  restore.* 

MORAL. 

rhis  Legend  sound  maxims  exemplifies — e.g., 

bno. 

Should  anything  tease  you,     Annoy,  or  displease  you, 
Remember  what  Lilly  says,  "Animum  regef'f 
A.nd  as  for  that  shocking  bad  habit  of  swearing, — 
[n  all  good  society  voted  past  bearing, — 
Eschew  it !  and  leave  it  to  dustmen  and  mobs, 
S'or  commit  yourself  much  beyond  "  Zooks !"  or  "  Odsbobs !" 

Ido. 

When  asked  out  to  dine  by  a  Person  of  Quality, 

VLind  and  observe  the  most  strict  punctuality ! 

For  should  you  come  late,     And  make  dinner  wait, 
ind  the  victuals  get  cold,  you'll  incur,  sure  as  fate, 
rhe  Master's  displeasure,  the  Mistress's  hate, 
'^nd — though  both  may,  perhaps,  be  too  well-bred  to  swear — 
rhey'll  heartily  wish  you — I  need  not  say  Where. 

Uio. 

Liook  well  to  your  Maid-servants ! — say  you  expect  them 

Co  see  to  the  children,  and  not  to  neglect  them ! 

\.nd,  if  you're  a  widower,  just  throw  a  cursory 

jrlance  in,  at  times,  when  you  go  near  the  Nursery. 

*  It  is  with  the  greatest  satisfaction  that  I  learn  from  Mr.  Simpkinson  this  consum- 
Qation,  so  devoutly  to  be  wished,  is  about  to  be  realized,  and  that  the  remainder  of 
his  most  interesting  document,  containing  the  whole  of  the  defendant's  evidence, 
rUl  appear  in  the  course  of  the  ensuing  summer,  under  the  same  auspices  as  the 
ormer  portion.    We  shall  look  with  eagerness  for  the  identification  of  "Curly-wig." 

t  Animum  rege !  qui  nisi  paret,  imperat.— Lilly's  Grammar. 


420 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.   CUTHBERT. 


— Perhaps  it's  as  well  to  keep  children  from  plums, 

And  from  pears  in  the  season, — and  sucking  their  thumbs ! 

Ato. 

To  sum  up  the  whole  with  a  "  Saw  "  of  much  use, 

'Be.just  and  be  generous, — don't  hQ profuse! — 

Pay  the  debts  that  you  owe, — keep  your  word  to  your  friends, 

But — don't  set  your  candles  alight  at  both  ends  ! ! — 

For  of  this  be  assured,  if  you  "  go  it"  too  fast, 

You'll  be  "  dished  "  like  Sir  Guy,    And  like  him,  perhaps, 
die  * 

A  poor,  old,  half-starved  Country  Parson  at  last 


From  a  seal  attached  to 
an  ancient  Aee6.  penes  Thom- 
as   Ingoldsby,     Esq.,     pre- 


served in  the   archiyes   at 
Tappington  Everard. 


For  the  Legend  that  follows  Father  John  has,  it  will  be 
seen,  the  grave  authority  of  a  Romish  Prelate.  The  good 
Father,  who,  as  I  have  before  had  occasion  to  remark,  received 
his  education  at  Douai,  spent  several  years,  in  the  earlier  part 
of  his  life,  upon  the  Continent.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that 
during  this  period  he  visited  Blois,  and  there,  in  all  probabil- 
ity, picked  up,  in  the  very  scene  of  its  locality,  the  history 
which  he  has  thus  recorded. 


A   LEGEND    OF  BLOIS.  421 

W^t  Hag  of  St.  ^logs!. 

A  LEGEND  OF  BLOIS. 

S.  Heloius  in  hdc  urbe  fuit  episcopus,  qui,  defunctus,  sepulturus  est  a  fidelibus.  Nocte 
item  sequenti,  veniens  quidani  paganus  lapidem,  qui  sarcophagum  tegebat,  revolvit, 
•ectumque  contra  se  corpus  Sancti  spoliare,  conatur.  At  ille,  lacertis  constrictum,  ad 
;  honiinem  fortiter  amplexatur,  et  usque  mane,  populis  spectantibus,  tanquam  con- 
ipatum  loria,  ita  miserum  brachiis  detinebat.  *  *  *  *  Judex  loci  sepulchri  violatorem 
ibet  abstrahi,  et  legali  poense  sententia  condemnari ;  sed  non  laxabatur  a  Sancto. 
unc  intelligens  voluntatem  defuncti.  Judex,  facta  de  vita  promissione,  absolvit, 
sinde  laxatur,  et  sic  incolumis  redditur:  non  vero  fur  demissus  quin  se  vitam 
lonastericam  amplexurum  spopondisset. 

Greg. :  Turnoens :  de  Glorid  Confessorum,   , 

SAINT  ALOYS 
Was  the  Bishop  of  Blois, 
And  a  pitiful  man  was  he ; 
He  grieved  and  he  pined 
For  the  woes  of  mankind, 
And  of  brutes  in  their  degree ; — 
He  would  rescue  the  rat 
From  the  claws  of  the  cat, 
And  set  the  poor  captive  free ; 

Though  his  cassock  was  swarming 
With  all  sorts  of  vermin, 
He'd  not  take  the  life  of  a  flea ! — 
Kind,  tender,  forgiving. 
To  all  things  living. 
From  injury  still  he'd  endeavor  to  screen  'em, 
Fish,  flesh,  or  fowl, — no  difference  between  'em — 
Nihil  putavit  a  se  alienum. 

The  Bishop  of  Blois  was  a  holy  man, — 

A  holy  man  was  he ! 
For  Holy  Church 
He'd  seek  and  he'd  search 

As  a  Bishop  in  his  degree. 
From  foe  and  from  friend 
He'd  "  rap  and  he'd  rend," 

To  augment  her  treasurie. 
Nought  would  he  give,  and  little  he'd  lend. 
That  Holy  Church  might  have  more  to  spend — 


422  THE  LAY  OF  ST.  ALOYS. 

"Count  Stfiphea"*  (of  Bloisj  "  wa«  a  worthy  Peer, 

His  breeches  cost  him  but  a  crown, 
He  held  them  sixpence  all  to  dear, 

And  so  he  called  the  Tailor  lown !" — 
Had  it  be^;n  the  Bishop  instead  of  the  Count, 
And  he'd  overcharged  him  to  half  the  amount, 
He  had  knocked  that  Tailor  down ! — 
Not  for  himself! —     He  despised  the  pelf; 
He  dressed  in  sackcloth,  he  dined  off  delf ; 
And,  when  it  was  cold,  in  lieu  of  a  surtout, 
The  good  man  would  wrap  himself  up  in  his  virtue.f 
Alack !  that  a  man  so  holy  as  he, 
80  frank  and  i'rae  in  his  degree, 
And  so  good  and  so  kind,  should  mortal  be ! 

Yet  so  it  is — for  loud  and  clear 

From  Hi.  Nicholas'  tower,  on  the  listening  ear, 

With  solemn  swell     The  deep-toned  bell 
Flings  to  the  gale  a  funeral  knell ; 

And  hark! — at  its  sound.     As  a  cunning  old  hound. 
When  he  opens,  at  once  causes  all  the  young  whelps 
Of  the  cry  to  put  in  their  less  dignified  yelps, 

kSo — the  little  bells  all,     No  matter  how  small. 
From  the  steeples  both  inside  and  outside  the  wall, 

With  bell-metal  throat     Respond  to  the  note. 
And  join  the  lament  that  a  prelate  so  pious  is 
Forced  thus  to  leave  his  disconsolate  diocese, 

Or,  as  lilois'  Lord  May'r     Is  heard  to  declare, 
"  Should  leave  this  here  world  for  to  go  to  that  there." 

And  see,  the  portals  opening  wide. 
From  the  Abbey  flows  the  living  tide ; 

Forth  from  the  doors     The  torrent  pours. 
Acolytes,  Monks,  and  Friars  in  scores, 

•  Timte  Mfsslre  lajfo,  a  distinguished  subaltorn  in  the  V^nPtian  acrvir.p,  cireiter  a.d. 
1580.  His  Biographer,  Mr,  William  Shakspcarc,  a  c.ontiinipf^irary  writer  of  some  note, 
malccs  him  say  "  Kinf/  Stephen,"  inasmuch  a.s  the  "  worl  liy  pe<tr  "  subse«|uently  usurped 
the  erown  of  Kngland.    The  anacbroniam  ia  a  pardonable  one.—  J/r.  Him^kimon  0/  B(Uh,\ 

t  "Me4 

Vixtute  me  iavolvo."— Hob. 


A   LEGEND   OF  Ji/JfJ.S.  423 

ThiH  with  \m  chaHul)lf;,  tliat  willi  liin  roHjiry, 
Thin  innii  h\n  iiicenw;  pot  turiiiii;.'  Iiiw  i](mi  awry, 

Holy  Father,  and  Holy  Mr>th(!r, 

Holy  HiHter,  and  Holy  Jiroflicr, 

Holy  Son,  and  Holy  Da  u;:  I  iter, 

Hfjly  VV.'illr,  and  Holy  Wati  r, 

pjvery  one  drent     Like  a  gueHt  in  hin  best, 
In  the  snaarteHt  of  clotheH  they're  perniitUj^l  to  wear, 
Serge,  »aekcIoth,  and  hhirtH  of  the  wanie  nf»rt  of  hair 
Ah  now  we  make  uhc  of  to  ntulf  an  arni-ehair, 
Or  weave  into  gloven  at  three  HJiillingH  a  pair, 
And  employ  for  Khampooing  in  eaw^  rheumatic, — a 
Spw;ial  H[>ceifie,  I'm  told,  for  Hciatica. 

Through  groined  arch,  and  by  cloiMtered  Htone, 
With  mfWHCH  and  ivy  long  o'ergrown, 

Slowly  the  throng     Come  paKwing  along. 
With  many  a  eliant  and  wh-mn  nong, 
Adajitf^l  i'tir  holidayH,  high-<]ayH,  and  BundayH, — 

Dies  irrr,  and  iJc  profuudvf, 

Minercre,  and  iJcmine  dirif/e  non, 
Buch  an,  I  hear,  to  a  very  slow  tune  are  all 
Commonly  ehautwl  f)y  MonkH  at  a  funeral, 

To  Hccurc  the  rlefu net's  rcpone. 
And  to  give  a  broad  hint  to  Old  Niek,  uliould  the  newH 
Of  a  prelatfi'K  dwea«e  bring  him  there  on  a  erui«e. 
That  he'd  better  be  minding  bin  I*h  anrl  \i\n  i^f^, 
And  not  come  Uto  near, — t-inee  they  can,  if  they  ch'KjHe, 
Make  him  shake  in  his  hoo& — as  he  does  not  wear  shocH. 

Still  on  they  go,     A  gooflly  f<how, 
With  footHtepH  Hure,  though  certainly  hIow, 
Two  by  two  in  a  very  long  row ; 

With  feathers,  and  Mut^-s     In  mounting  suit*, 
Undertaker's  nutu  walking  in  hat-bands  and  Ux>t«. — 
Tlien  comes  the  Crf>Kier,  all  jewels  and  gold, 
Home  by  a  lad  aU>ut  eighteen  years  old ; 
Next,  on  a  black  velvet  cuf^hfon,  the  Mitrr;, 
Borne  by  a  younger  Ujy,  'cauise  it  in  lighter. 


424  THE  LAY  OF  ST.  ALOYS. 

Eight  Franciscans,  sturdy  and  strong, 
Bear,  in  the  midst,  the  good  Bishop  along ; 
Eight  Franciscans,  stout  and  tall. 
Walk  at  the  corners,  and  hold  up  the  pall  ; 
Eight  more  hold  a  canopy  high  over  all, 
With  eight  Trumpeters  tooting  the  Dead  March  in  Saul. 
Behind,  as  Chief  Mourner,  the  Lord  Abbot  goes,  his 
Monks  coming  after  him,  all  with  posies. 
And  white  pocket-handkerchiefs  up  at  their  noses, 
Which  they  blow  whenever  his  Lordship  blows  his; 
And  oh  !  'tis  a  comely  sight  to  see 
How  Lords  and  Ladies,  of  high  degree, 
Vail,  as  they  pass,  upon  bended  knee, 
AVhile  quite  as  polite  are  the  Squires  and  the  Knights, 
In  their  helmets,  and  hauberks,  and  cast-iron  tights. 


Ay,  'tis  a  comely  sight  to  behold, 
As  the  company  march 
Through  the  rounded  arch 
Of  that  Cathedral  old  !— 
Singers  behind  'em,  and  singers  before  'em, 
All  of  them  ranging  in  due  decorum, 
Around  the  inside  of  the  Sanctum  Sanctorum, 

While  brilliant  and  bright     An  unwonted  light 
(I  forgot  to  premise  this  was  all  done  at  night) 
The  links,  and  the  torches,  and  flambeaux  shed 
On  the  sculptured  forms  of  the  Mighty  Dead 
That  rest  below,  mostly  buried  in  lead, 
And  above,  recumbent  in  grim  repose, 
With  their  mailed  hose, 
And  their  dogs  at  their  toes. 
And  little  boys  kneeling  beneath  them  in  rows. 
Their  hands  joined  in  pray'r,  all  in  very  long  clothes, 
With  inscriptions  on  brass,  begging  each  who  survives, 
As  they  some  of  them  seem  to  have  led  so-so  lives. 
To  ^rai'e  for  t|)e  SotoleS  of  themselves  and  their  wives.- 
— The  efiect  of  the  music,  too,  really  was  fine. 
When  they  let  the  good  Prelate  down  into  his  shrine, 


A  LEGEND   OF  BLOIS.  425 

And  by  old  and  young    The  "Requiem"  was  sung: 
Not  vernacular  French,  but  a  classical  tongue, 
That  is,  Latin, — I  don't  think  they  meddled  with  Greek — 
In  short,  the  whole  thing  produced — so  to  speak — 
What  in  Blois  they  would  call  a  Coup  d'odl  magnifique  ! 

Yet,  surely,  when  the  level  ray 

Of  some  mild  eve's  descending  sun 
Lights  on  the  village  pastor,  gray 

Li  years  ere  ours  had  well  begun — 

As  there,  in  simplest  vestment  clad, 

He  speaks,  beneath  the  churchyard  tree, 

In  solemn  tones, — but  yet  not  sad, — 
Of  what  Man  is — what  Man  shall  be ; 

And  clustering  round  the  grave,  half  hid 
By  that  same  quiet  churchyard  yew, 

The  rustic  mourners  bend  to  bid 
The  dust  they  loved  a  last  adieu — 

— That  ray,  methinks,  that  rests  so  sheen 
Upon  each  briar-bound  hillock  green, 
So  calm,  so  tranquil,  so  serene. 
Gives  to  the  eye  a»  fairer  scene, 
Speaks  to  the  heart  with  holier  breath, 
Than  all  this  pageantry  of  Death. — 

But  chaeion  a  son  gout — this  is  talking  at  random — 
We  all  know  "  De  gu^tibiis  non  disputandum  /" 
So  canter  back.  Muse,  to  the  scene  of  your  story. 

The  Cathedral  of  Blois —    Where  the  Sainted  Aloys 
Is  by  this  time,  you'll  find,  "  left  alone  in  his  glory." 
"  In  the  dead  of  the  night,"  though  with  labor  opprest. 
Some  "  mortals  "  disdain  "  the  calm  blessings  of  rest ;" 
Your  cracksman,  for  instance,  thinks  night-time  the  best 
To  break  open  a  door,  or  the  lid  of  a  chest ; 
And  the  gypsy  who  close  round  your  premises  prowls. 
To  ransack  your  hen-roost,  and  steal  all  your  fowls. 
Always  sneaks  out  at  night  with  the  bats  and  the  owls, 
— So  do  Witches  and  Warlocks,  Ghosts,  Goblins,  and  Ghouls, 


426  THE  LAY  OF  ST.  ALOYS. 

To  say  nothing  at  all  of  those  troublesome  "Swells" 
Who  come  from  the  playhouses,  "  flash  kens,"  and  "  hells," 
To  i^ull  ofi"  people's  knockers  and  ring  people's  bells. 

Well — 'tis  now  the  hour  ill  things  have  power, 
And  all  who,  in  Blois,  entertain  honest  views 
Have  long  been  in  bed  and  enjoying  a  snooze ; 

Nought  is  waking     Save  mischief  and  "  Faking,"* 
And  a  few  who  are  sitting  up  brewing  or  baking. 
When  an  ill-lookiug  Infidel,  sallow  of  hue, 
Who  stands  in  his  slippers  some  six  feet  two 
(A  rather  remarkable  height  for  a  Jew), 
Creeps  cautiously  out  of  the  churchwarden's  pew, 
Into  which,  during  service,  he  managed  to  slide  himself — 
While  all  were  intent  on  the  anthem — and  hide  himself. 

From  his  lurking-place.     With  stealthy  pace. 
Through  the  "  long-drawn  aisle"  he  begins  to  crawl, 
As  you  see  a  cat  walk  on  the  top  of  the  wall 
When  it's  stuck  full  of  glass,  and  she  thinks  she  shall  fall. 

He  proceeds  to  feel     For  his  flint  and  his  steel 
(An  invention  on  which  we've  improved  a  great  deal 
Of  late  years ;  the  substitute  best  to  rely  on 
's  what  Jones  of  the  Strand  calls  his  Pyrogeneioii)  ; 

He  strikes  with  despatch — his     Tinder  catches ! — 
Now,  where  is  his  candle  ?  and  where  are  his  matches  ? 

'Tis  done — they  are  found ! 

He  stands  up,  and  looks  round 
By  the  light  of  a  "  dip"  of  sixteen  to  the  pound ! 
— What  is  it  now  that  makes  his  nerves  to  quiver, 
His  hand  to  shake,  and  his  limbs  to  shiver  ? — 
Fear  ? — Pooh !  it  is  only  a  touch  of  the  liver. 

All  is  silent — all  is  still ; 
It's  "gammon" — it's  "stufi*!" — he  may  do  what  he  will! 
Carefully  now  he  approaches  the  shrine, 

*  "  Nix  my  dolly,  pals,  Fake  away !" — words  of  deep  and  mysterious  import  in  the 
ancient  language  of  Upper  Egypt,  and  recently  inscribed  on  the  sacred  standard  of 
Mehemet  Ali.  They  are  supposed  to  intimate  to  the  initiated  in  the  art  of  Abstrac- 
tion the  absence  of  all  human  observation,  and  to  suggest  the  propriety  of  making  the 
best  use  of  their  time — and  fingers. 


A   LEGEND    OF  BLOIS.  427 

In  which,  as  I've  mentioned  before,  about  nine 
They  had  placed  in  such  state  the  lamented  Divine ; 
— But  not  to  worship — No  !   no  such  thing ! — 
His  aim  is — to  "  prig  "  the  Pastoral  Ring  ! ! 

Fancy  his  fright     When,  with  all  his  might 
Having  forced  up  the  lid — which  they'd  not  fastened  quite — 
Of  the  marble  sarcophagus,  "  all  in  white  " 
The  dead  Bishop  started  up,  bolt  upright 
On  his  hinder  end,  and  grasped  him  so  tight 

That  the  clutch  of  a  kite.     Or  a  bulldog's  bite 
When  he's  most  provoked  and  in  bitterest  spite, 
May  well  be  conceived  in  comparison  slight, — 
And,  having  thus  "  tackled  "  him — blew  out  his  light !  I 

Oh  dear !  oh  dear !     The  fright  and  the  fear ! — 

No  one  to  hear ! — nobody  near ! — 
In  the  dead  of  the  night ! — at  a  bad  time  of  year ! — 
A  defunct  Bishop  squatting  upright  on  his  bier, 
And  shouting  so  loud  that  the  drum  of  his  ear 
He  thought  would  have  split  as  these  awful  words  met  it — 
"Ah!  ha!  my  good  friend!  don't  you  wish  you  may 

GET    IT?" 

Oh  dear !  oh  dear !     '  Twas  a  night  of  fear ! 
I  should  just  like  to  know  if  the  boldest  man  here, 
In  his  situation,  would  not  have  felt  queer  ? 

The  wretched  man  bawls,  and  he  yells  and  he  squalls, 
But  there's  nothing  responds  to  his  shrieks  save  the  walls, 
And  the  desk  and  the  pulpit,  the  pews  and  the  stalls. 

Held  firmly  at  bay,     Kick  and  plunge  as  he  may. 
His  struggles  are  fruitless — he  can't  get  away ; 
He  really  can't  tell  what  to  do  or  to  say. 
And,  being  a  Pagan,  don't  know  how  to  pray, — 
Till  through  the  east  window  a  few  streaks  of  gray 
Announce  the  approach  of  the  dawn  of  the  day ! 

Oh,  a  welcome  sight     Is  the  rosy  light 
Which  lovelily  heralds  a  morning  bright, 


428  THE  LAY  OF  ST.  ALOYS. 

Above  all  to  a  wretch  kept  in  durance  all  night 
By  a  horrid  dead  gentleman  holding  him  tight, — 
Of  all  sorts  of  gins  that  a  trespasser  can  trap, 
The  most  disagreeable  kind  of  a  man  trap ! 

— Oh !  welcome  that  bell's     Matin  chime,  which  tells 
To  one  caught  in  this  worst  of  all  possible  snares. 
That  the  hour  is  arrived  to  begin  Morning  Prayers, 
And  the  Monks  and  the  Friars  are  coming  down  stairs ! 

Conceive  the  surprise     Of  the  Choir — how  their  eyes 
Are  distended  to  twice  their  original  size, — 
How  some  begin  bless, — some  anathematize, — 
And  all  look  on  the  thief  as  Old  Nick  in  disguise. 
While  the  mystified  Abbot  cries,  "  Well ! — I  declare ! — 
— This  is  really  a  very  mysterious  affair ! — 
Bid  the  bandy-legged  Sexton  go  run  for  the  May'r !" 

The  May'r  and  his  suite     Are  soon  on  their  feet 
(His  Worship  kept  house  in  the  very  same  street), — 

At  once  he  awakes,     "  His  compliments"  makes, 
"  He'll  be  up  at  the  church  in  a  couple  of  shakes !" 
Meanwhile  the  whole  Convent  is  pulling  and  hauling, 

Aod  bawling  and  squalling,     And  terribly  mauling 
The  thief  whose  endeavor  to  follow  his  calling 
Had  thus  brought  him  into  a  grasp  so  enthralling. — 

Now  high,  now  low.     They  drag  "  to  and  fro," — 
Now  this  way,  now  that  way,  they  twist  him — but — No ! — 
The  glazed  eye  of  St.  Aloys  distinctly  says  "  Poh ! 
You  may  pull  as  you  please,  I  shall  not  let  him  go !" 
Nay,  more ; — when  his  Worship  at  length  came  to  say 
He  was  perfectly  ready  to  take  him  away, 
And  fat  him  to  grace  the  next  Auto-da-fe, 

Still  closer  he  prest     The  poor  wretch  to  his  breast, 
While  a  voice — though  his  jaws  still  together  were  jammed — 

Was  heard  from  his  chest,  "  If  you  do,  I'll "  here  slammed 

The  great  door  of  the  church, — with  so  awful  a  sound. 
That  the  close  of  the  good  Bishop's  sentence  was  drowned ! 

Out  spake  Frere  Jehan,    A  pitifUl  man, 
Oh  !  a  pitiful  man  was  he ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  BLOTS.  429 

And  he  wept  and  he  pined     For  the  sins  of  mankind, 
As  a  Friar  in  his  degree. 
"  Remember,  good  gentlefolks,"  so  he  began, 
"  Dear  Aloys  was  always  a  pitiful  man  ! — 

That  voice  from  his  chest     Has  clearly  exprest 
He  has  pardoned  the  culprit — and  as  for  the  rest, 
Before  you  shall  burn  him — he'll  see  you  all  blest !" 

The  monks,  and  the  Abbot,  the  Sexton,  and  Clerk, 
AVere  exceedingly  struck  with  the  Friar's  remark. 
And  the  Judge,  who  himself  was  by  no  means  a  shark 
Of  a  Lawyer,  and  who  did  not  do  things  in  the  dark. 
But  still  leaned  (having  once  been  himself  a  gay  spark) 
To  the  merciful  side, — like  the  late  Allan  Park, — 

Agreed  that,  indeed,     The  best  way  to  succeed. 
And  by  which  this  poor  caitiff  alone  could  be  freed. 
Would  be  to  absolve  him,  and  grant  a  free  pardon, 
On  a  certain  condition,  and  that  not  a  hard  one, 
Viz. — "  That  he,  the  said  Infidel,  straightway  should  ope 
His  mind  to  conviction,  and  worship  the  Pope, 
And  *  ev'ry  man  Jack '  in  an  amice  or  cope ; 

And  that,  to  do  so.     He  should  forthwith  go 
To  Rome,  and  salute  there  his  Holiness'  toe ; — 

And  never  again     Read  Voltaire  or  Tom  Paine, 
Or  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  or  Lord  Byron's  Cain ; — 
His  pilgrimage  o'er,  take  St.  Francis's  habit ; — 
If  anything  lay  about  never  to  *  nab '  it ; 
Or,  at  worst,  if  he  should  light  on  articles  gone  astray, 
To  be  sure  and  deposit  them  safe  in  the  Monast'ry !" 

The  oath  he  took —    As  he  kissed  the  book, 
Nave,  transept,  and  aisle  with  a  thunder-clap  shook ! 
The  Bishop  sank  down  with  a  satisfied  look. 

And  the  Thief,  released     By  the  Saint  deceased. 
Fell  into  the  arms  of  a  neighboring  Priest ! 

It  skills  not  now     To  tell  you  how 
The  transmogrified  Pagan  performed  his  vow ; 

How  he  quitted  his  home.     Travelled  to  Rome, 
And  went  to  St.  Peter's  and  looked  at  the  Dome, 


430  THE  LAY  OF  ST.  ALOYS. 

And  obtained  from  the  Pope  an  assurance  of  bliss, 
And  kissed — whatever  he  gave  him  to  kit-s — 
Toe,  relic,  embroidery,  nought  came  amiss ; 

And  how  Pope  Urban     Had  the  man's  turban 
Hung  up  in  the  Sistine  chapel,  by  way 
Of  a  relic — and  how  it  hangs  there  to  this  day. — 

Suffice  it  to  tell.     Which  will  do  quite  as  well, 
That  the  whole  of  the  Convent  the  miracle  saw, 
And  the  Abbot's  report  was  sufficient  to  draw 
Ev'ry  bon  CathoUque  in  la  belle  France  to  Blois, 
Among  others,  the  Monarch  himself,  Fran9ois, 
The  Archbishop  of  Rheims,  and  his  "  Pious  Jackdaw,"* 
And  there  was  not  a  man  in  Church,  Chapel,  or  Meeting-house, 
Still  less  in  Cabaret,  Hotel,  or  Eating-house, 

But  made  an  oration.     And  said,  "  In  the  nation 
If  ever  a  man  deserved  canonization. 
It  was  the  kind,  pitiful,  pious  Aloys." — 

So  the  Pope  says — says  he,  "  Then  a  Saint  he  shall  be !" — 
So  he  made  him  a  Saint, — and  remitted  the  fee. 

What  became  of  the  Pagan  I  really  can't  say  ; 

But  I  think  I've  been  told,     When  he'd  entered  their  fold. 
And  was  now  a  Franciscan  some  twenty  days  old. 
He  got  up  one  fine  morning  before  break  of  day, 
Put  the  Pyx  in  his  pocket — and  then  ran  away. 

MORAL. 

I  think  we  may  coax  out  a  moral  or  two 
From  the  facts  which  have  lately  come  under  our  view. 
First — Don't  meddle  with  Saints  ! — for  you'll  find  if  you  do 
They're  what  Scotch  people  call  "  kittle  cattle  to  shoe !" 
And  when  once  they  have  managed  to  take  you  in  tow, 
It's  a  deuced  hard  matter  to  make  them  let  go ! 

Now  to  you,  wicked  Pagans ! — who  wander  about. 

Up  and  down  Regent  Street  every  night,  "  on  the  scout," — 

Recollect  the  Police  keep  a  sharpish  lookout, 

*  Vide  page  1G4. 


A   LEGEND   OF  BLOIS.  431 

And  if  once  you're  suspected,  your  skirts  they  will  stick  to 
Till  they  catch  you  at  last  in  flagrante  delicto  ! — 

Don't  the  inference  di-aw     That  because  he  of  Blois 
Suffered  one  to  bilk  "  Old  father  Antic  the  Law," 
That  our  May'rs  and  our  Aldermen — and  we've  a  City  full — 
Show  themselves,  at  our  Guildhall,  quite  so  pitiful ! 

Lastly,  as  to  the  Pagan  who  played  such  a  trick. 
First  assuming  the  tonsure,  then  cutting  his  stick, 
There  is  but  one  thing  which  occurs  to  me — that 
Is, — Don't  give  too  much  credit  to  people  who  "  rat !" 

— Never  forget     Early  habit's  a  net 
Which  entangles  us  all,  more  or  less,  in  its  mesh ; 
And  "  what's  bred  in  the  bone  won't  come  out  of  the  flesh !" 
We  must  all  be  aware  Nature's  prone  to  rebel,  as 
Old  Juvenal  tells  us,  Naturam  expellas 

Tanien  usque  recurret !     There's  no  use  making  Her  rat ! 
So  that  all  that  I  have  on  this  head  to  advance 
Is, — whatever  they  think  of  these  matters  in  France, 
There's  a  proverb,  the  truth  of  which  each  one  allows  here, — 

"You  NEVER   CAN   MAKE   A   SILK   PURSE   OF   A   SOW's   EAR !" 


In  the  succeeding  Legend  we  come  nearer  home.  Father 
Ingoldsby  is  particular  in  describing  its  locality,  situate  some 
eight  miles  from  the  Hall — less,  if  you  take  the  bridle-road  by 
the  Churchyard,  and  so  along  the  valley  by  Mr.  Fector's 
Abbey.  In  the  enumeration  of  the  various  attempts  to  appro- 
priate the  treasure  (drawn  from  a  later  source),  is  omitted  one, 
said  to  have  been  undertaken  by  the  worthy  ecclesiastic  him- 
self, who,  as  Mrs.  Botherby  insinuates,  is  reported  to  have 
started  for  Dover,  one  fine  morning,  duly  furnished  with  all  the 
means  and  appliances  of  Exorcism.  I  cannot  learn,  however, 
that  the  family  was  ever  enriched  by  his  expedition. 


432  THE   OLD    WOMAN  CLOTHED   IN  GRAY. 

in  Crag. 

A  LEGEND  OF  DOVEK. 

ONCE  there  lived,  as  I've  heard  people  say, 
An  "  Old  Woman  clothed  in  gray," 
So  furrowed  with  care,     So  haggard  her  air, 
In  her  eye  such  a  wild  supernatural  stare. 

That  all  who  espied  her     Immediately  shied  her, 
And  strove  to  get  out  of  her  way. 

This  fearsome  Old  Woman  was  taken  ill ; 

— She  sent  for  the  Doctor — he  sent  her  a  pill. 

And  by  way  of  a  trial,     A  two-shilling  phial 
Of  green-looking  fluid,  like  lava  diluted. 
To  which  I've  professed  an  abhorrence  most  rooted.* 
One  of  those  di-aughts  they  so  commonly  send  us, 
Labelled  "  Haustus  catharticus,  mane  sumendus ;" — 

She  made  a  wry  face,     And,  without  saying  Grace, 
Tossed  it  ofi"  like  a  dram — it  improved  not  her  case. 

— The  Leech  came  again ;     He  now  opened  a  vein. 
Still  the  little  Old  Woman  continued  in  pain. 
So  her  "  Medical  Man;"  although  loth  to  distress  her, 
Conceived  it  high  time  that  her  Father  Confessor 
Should  be  sent  for  to  shrive,  and  assoilzie,  and  bless  her. 
That  she  might  not  slip  out  of  these  troublesome  scenes 
"  Unanealed  and  Unhouseled," — whatever  that  means.f 

Growing  afraid.     He  calls  to  his  aid 
A  bandy-legg'd  neighbor,  a  "  Tailor  by  trade"X 

Tells  him  his  fears,     Bids  him  lay  by  his  shears, 

*  Vide  page  264. 

t  Alack  for  poor  William  Linley  to  settle  the  point !  His  elucidation  of  Macbeth's 
"  Hurly-burly "  casts  a  halo  around  his  memory.  In  him  the  world  lost  one  of  its 
kindliest  spirits,  and  the  Garrick  Club  its  acutest  commentator. 

X  All  who  are  familiar  with  the  Police  Reports,  and  other  Records  of  our  Courts  of 
justice,  will  recollect  that  every  gentleman  of  this  particular  profession  invariably 
thus  describes  himself,  in  contradistinction  to  the  bricklayer,  whom  he  probably  pre- 
sumes to  be  indigenous,  and  to  the  Shoemaker,  bom  a  Snob. 


A    LEGEND    OF  DOVER.  433 

His  thimble,  his  goose,  and  his  needle,  and  hie 
With  ail  possible  speed  to  the  Convent  hard  by. 

Requests  him  to  say     That  he  begs  they'll  all  pray 
Viz.,  the  whole  pious  brotherhood,  Cleric  and  Lay, 
For  the  soul  of  an  Old  Woman  clothed  in  gray. 
Who  was  just  at  that  time  in  a  very  bad  way, 
And  he  really  believed  couldn't  last  out  the  day ; — 

And  to  state  his  desire     That  some  erudite  friar 
Would  run  over  at  once,  and  examine,  and  try  her ; 

For   he   thought  he  would  find     There  was  "something 
behind," 
A  something  that  weighed  on  the  Old  Woman's  mind, — 
"  In  fact,  he  was  sure,  from  what  fell  from  her  tongue, 
That  this  little  Old  Woman  had  done  something  wrong." 
— Then  he  wound  up  the  whole  with  this  hint  to  the  man, 
"Mind  and  pick  out  as  holy  a  friar  as  you  can!" 

Now  I'd  have  you  to  know     That  this  story  of  woe 
Which  I'm  telling  you  happened  a  long  time  ago; 
I  can't  say  exactly  how  long,  nor,  I  own. 
What  particular  monai'ch  was  then  on  the  throne, 
But  'twas  here  in  Old  England ;  and  all  that  one  knows  is. 
It  must  have  preceded  the  Wars  of  the  Roses.* 

Inasmuch  as  the  times     Described  in  these  rhymes 
Were  as  fruitful  in  virtues  as  ours  are  in  crimes ; 

And  if  'mongst  the  Laity     Unseemly  gayety 
Sometimes  betrayed  an  occasional  taint  or  two. 

At  once  all  the  Clerics     Went  into  hysterics, 
While  scarcely  a  convent  but  boasted  its  Saint  or  two ; 
So  it  must  have  been  long  ere  the  line  of  the  Tudors, 

As  since  then  the  breed     Of  Saints  rarely  indeed 
With  their  dignified  presence  have  darkened  our  pew  doors. 
— Hence  the  late  Mr.  Froude,  and  the  live  Dr.  Pusey, 
We  moderns  consider  as  each  worth  a  Jew's  eye ; 

*  "An  ancient  and  most  pugnacious  family,"  says  our  Bath  Friend.  "One  of  their 
descendants,  George  Eose,  Esq.,  late  M.P.  for  Christchurch  (an  elderly  gentleman,  now 
defunct),  was  equally  celebrated  for  his  vocal  abilities  and  his  wanton  destruction  of 
furniture  when  in  a  state  of  excitement.  '  Sing  old  Rose,  and  burn  the  bellows  I'  haa 
grown  into  a  proverb. 
28 


434  THE   OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED   IN  GRAY. 

Though  Wiseman  and  Dullman  *  combine  against  Newman, 
With  Doctors  and  Proctors,  and  say  he's  no  true  man. 
— But  this  by  the  way.     The  Convent  I  speak  about 
Had  Saints  in  scores — they  said  Mass  week  and  week  about ; 
And  the  two  now  on  duty  were  each,  for  their  piety, 
"Second  to  none"  in  that  holy  society, 

And  well  might  have  borne     Those  words  which  are  worn 
By  our  " Nulli  Secundus"  Club — poor  dear  lost  muttons, — 
Of  Guardsmen — on  Club  days,  inscribed  on  their  buttons. — 

They  would  read,  write,  and  speak    Latin,  Hebrew,  and 
Greek, 
A  radish-bunch  munch  for  a  lunch, — or  a  leek ; 

Though  scoffers  and  boobies     Ascribe  certain  rubies 
That  garnished  the  nose  of  the  good  Father  Hilary 
To  the  overmuch  use  of  Canary  and  Sillery, 
— Some  said  spirituous  compounds  of  viler  distillery — 

Ah !  little  recked  they     That  with  friars  who  say 
Fifty  Paters  a  night,  and  a  hundred  a  day, 
A  very  slight  sustenance  goes  a  great  way — 
Thus  the  consequence  was  that  his  colleague,  Basilius, 
Won  golden  opinions,  by  looking  more  bilious, 
From  all  who  conceived  strict  monastical  duty 
By  no  means  conducive  to  personal  beauty ; 
And  beiug  more  meagre,  and  thinner,  and  paler, 
He  was  snapt  up  at  once  by  the  bandy-legg'd  Tailor. 

The  latter's  concern     For  a  speedy  return 
Scarce  left  the  Monk  time  to  put  on  stouter  sandals, 
Or  go  round  to  his  shrines  and  snuff  all  his  Saints'  candles ; 
Still  less  had  he  leisure  to  change  the  hair-shirt  he 
Had  worn  the  last  twenty  years — probably  thirty, — 
Which,  not  being  washed  all  that  time,  had  grown  dirty. 

— It  seems  there's  a  sin  in     The  wearing  clean  linen, 
Which  friars  must  eschew  at  the  very  beginning, 
Though  it  makes  them  look  frowsy,  and  drowsy,  and  blowsy. 
And — a  rhyme  modern  etiquette  never  allows  ye. — 

*  The  worthy  Jesuit's  polemioal  publisher.    I  am  not  quite  su»e  as  to  the  orthog- 
raphy;  it's  idem  gonaits,  at  all  eveuts. 


i 


A   LEGEND    OF  DOVER.  435 

As  for  the  rest,     E'en  if  time  had  not  prest, 
It  didn't  much  matter  how  Basil  was  drest, 
Nor  could  there  be  any  great  need  for  adorning, 
The  Night  being  almost  at  odds  with  the  Morning. 

Oh !  sweet  and  beautiful  is  Night  when  the  silver  moon  is 
high, 

And  countless  stars,  like  clustering  gems,  hang  sparkling  in 
the  sky, 

While  the  balmy  breath  of  the  summer  breeze  comes  whisper- 
ing down  the  glen. 

And  one  fond  voice  alone  is  heard — oh !  Night  is  lovely  then ! 

But  when  that  voice,  in  feeble  moans  of  sickness  and  of  pain. 

But  mocks  the  anxious  ear  that  strives  to  catch  its  sounds  in 
vain, — 

When  silently  we  watch  the  bed,  by  the  taper's  flickering 
light. 

Where  all  we  love  is  fading  fast — how  terrible  is  Night ! ! 

More  terrible  yet    If  you  happen  to  get 
By  an  old  woman's  bedside  who,  all  her  life  long, 
Has  been  what  the  vulgar  call  "  coming  it  strong " 
In  all  sorts  of  ways  that  are  naughty  and  wrong. — 

As  Confessions  are  sacred,  it's  not  very  facile 
To  ascertain  what  the  old  hag  said  to  Basil  ; 

But  whatever  she  said,     It  filled  him  with  dread, 
And  made  all  his  hair  stand  on  end  on  his  head, — 
No  great  feat  to  perform,  inasmuch  as  said  hair 
Being  clipped  by  the  tonsure,  his  crown  was  left  bare, 
So  of  course  Father  Basil  had  little  to  spare ; 

But  the  little  he  had     Seemed  as  though't  had  gone  mad, 
Each  lock,  as  by  action  galvanic,  uprears 
In  the  two  little  tufts  on  the  tops  of  his  ears. — 

What  the  old  woman  said     That  so   "filled   him  with 
dread," 
We  should  never  have  known  any  more  than  the  dead. 
If  the  bandy-legged  Tailor,  his  errand  thus  sped. 
Had  gone  quietly  back  to  his  needle  and  thread. 


436  THE  OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GRAY. 

As  he  ought ;  but  instead,     Curiosity-led, — 
A  feeling  we  all  deem  extremely  ill-bred, — 
He  contrived  to  seci*ete  himself  under  the  bed  ! 

— Not  that  he  heard     One  half,  or  a  third, 
Of  what  passed  as  the  Monk  and  the  Patient  conferred, 
But  he  here  and  there  managed  to  pick  up  a  word, 

Such  as  "  Knife,"     And  "  Life," 
And  he  thought  she  said  "  Wife," 
And  "  Money,"  that  "  source  of  all  evil  and  strife ;"  * 
Then  he  plainly  distinguished  the  words  "  Gore  "  and  "  Gash," 
Whence  he  deemed — and  I  don't  think  his  inference  rash — 
She  had  cut  some  one's  throat  for  the  sake  of  his  cash  ! 

Intermixed  with  her  moans,     And  her  sighs  and  her  groans. 
Enough  to  have  melted  the  hearts  of  the  stones, 
Came  at  intervals  Basil's  sweet,  soft,  silver  tones, 
For  somehow  it  happened — I  can't  tell  you  why — 
The  good  Friar's  indignation, — at  first  rather  high, — 
To  judge  from  the  language  he  used  in  reply, 
Ere  the  old  woman  ceased,  had  a  good  deal  gone  by ; 
And  he  gently  addressed  her  in  accents  of  honey, 
"Daughter,   don't  you   despair !— WHAT'S    BECOME    OF 
THE  MONEY?" 

In  one  just  at  death's  door,  it  was  really  absurd 
To  see  how  her  eye  lighted  up  at  that  word — 
Indeed  there's  not  one  in  the  language  that  I  know 
(Save    its    synonyms    "  Spanish,"    "  Blunt,"    "  Stumpy "    and 
"Rhino"), 

Which  acts  so  direct     And  with  so  much  eflfect 
On  the  human  sensorium,  or  makes  one  erect 
One's  ears  so,  as  soon  as  the  sound  we  detect — 

It's  a  question  with  me     AVhich  of  the  three. 
Father  Basil  himself,  though  a  grave  S.T.P. 
(Such  as  he  have,  you  see,  the  degree  of  D.D.), 
Or  the  eaves-dropping,  bandy-legged  Tailor,  or  She, 
Caught  it  quickest — however,  traditions  agree 
That  the  Old  Woman  perked  up  as  brisk  as  a  bee. — 

*  "Effodiuntur  Opes  Irritamenta  Malorum." 

Lilly's  Grammar. 


A   LEGEND    OF  DOVER.  437 

'Twas  the  last  quivering  flare  of  the  taper, — the  fire 

It  so  often  emits  when  about  to  expire ! 

Her  excitement  began  the  same  instant  to  flag, 

She  sank  back,  and  whispered,  "  Safe ! — Safe ! — in  the  Bag ! !" 

Now  I  would  not  by  any  means  have  you  suppose 
That  the  good  Father  Basil  was  just  one  of  those 

Who  entertain  views     We're  so  apt  to  abuse, 
As  neither  befitting  Turks,  Christians,  nor  Jews, 

Who  haunt  death-bed  scenes.     By  underhand  means 
To  toady  or  tease  people  into  a  legacy, — 
For  few  folk  indeed  had  such  good  right  to  beg  as  he. 
Since  Rome,  in  her  pure  Apostolical  beauty. 
Not  only  permits,  but  enjoins  as  a  duty, 

Her  sons  to  take  care     That,  let  who  will  be  heir, 
The  Pontifi"  shall  not  be  choused  out  of  his  share. 
Nor  stand  any  such  mangling  of  chattels  and  goods 
As,  they  say,  was  the  case  with  the  late  Jemmy  Wood's ; 
Her  Conclaves,  and  Councils,  and  Synods,  in  short,  main- 
tain principles  adverse  to  statutes  of  Mortmain ; 

Besides,  you'll  discern     It,  at  once,  when  you  learn 
That  Basil  had  something  to  give  in  return. 
Since  it  rested  with  him  to  say  how  she  should  burn  ; 
Nay,  as  to  her  ill-gotten  wealth,  should  she  turn  it  all 
To  uses  he  named,  he  could  say,  "  You  shan't  burn  at  all. 

Or  nothing  to  signify,     Not  what  you'd  dignify 
So  much  as  even  to  call  it  a  roast. 
But  a  mere  little  singeing  or  scorching  at  most, — 
What  many  would  think  not  unpleasantly  warm, — 
Just  to  keep  up  appearance — mere  matter  of  form." 

All  this  in  her  ear     He  declared,  but  I  fear 
That  her  senses  were  wand'ring — she  seemed  not  to  hear, 
Or,  at  least,  understand, — for  mere  unmeaning  talk  h^r 
Parched    lips    babbled    now,  —  such    as    "Hookey!"    and 

"  Walker !" 
— She  expired,  with  her  last  breath  expressing  a  doubt 
If  "  his  Mother  were  fully  aware  he  was  out." 


438  THE  OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN  GRAY. 

Now  it  seems  there's  a  place  they  call  Pugat'ry — so 

I  must  write  it,  my  verse  not  admitting  the  O — 

But  as  for  the  venue,  I  vow  I'm  perplext 

To  say  if  it's  in  this  world,  or  if  in  the  next — 

Or  whether  in  both — for  'tis  very  well  known 

That  St.  Patrick,  at  least,  has  got  one  of  his  own, 

In  a  "  tight  little  Island  "  that  stands  in  a  Lake 

Called   "Lough-dearg"— that's   "The    Red   Lake,"   unless   I 

mistake — 
In  Fermanagh — or  Antrim— ^or  Donegal — which 

I  declare  I  can't  tell,     But  I  know  very  well 
It's  in  latitude  54,  nearly  their  pitch 
(At  Tappington,  now,  I  could  look  in  the  Gazetteer, 
But  I'm  out  on  a  visit,  and  nobody  has  it  here). 

There  are  some,  I'm  aware,     Who  don't  stick  to  declare 
There's  "no  differ"  at  all  'twixt  "this  here"  and  "that  there," 
That  it's  all  the  same  place,  but  the  Saint  reserves  his  entry 
For  the  separate  use  of  the  "  finest  of  pisentry," 

And  that  his  is  no  more     Than  a  mere  private  door 
From  the  rez-de-chaussee, — as  some  call  the  ground  floor, — 
To  the  one  which  the  Pope  had  found  out  long  before. 

But  no  matter — lay     The  locale  where  you  may ; 
— And  where  it  is  no  one  exactly  can  say — 
There's  one  thing,  at  least,  which  is  known  very  well, 
That  it  acts  as  a  Tap-room  to  Satan's  Hotel. 

"Entertainment"  there's  worse     Both  for  "Man  and  for 
Horse ;" 

For  broiling  the  souls     They  use  Lord  Mayor's  coals  ; — 
Then  the  sulphur's  inferior,  and  boils  up  much  slower 
Than  the  fine  fruity  brimstone  they  give  you  down  lower. 

It's    by    no    means    so    strong —     Mere    sloe-leaves    to 
Souchong, 
The  "  prokers "  are  not  half  so  hot,  or  so  long, 
By  an  inch  or  two,  either  in  handle  or  prong ; 
The  Vipers  and  Snakes  are  less  sharp  in  the  tooth. 
And  the  Nondescript  Monsters  not  near  so  uncouth ; — 


A   LEGEND    OF  DOVER.  439 

In  short,  It's  a  place  the  good  Pope,  its  creator. 

Made  for  what's  called  by  Cockneys  a  "  Minor  The-atre," 

Better  suited,  of  course,  for  a  "  minor  performer," 

Than  the  "  House,"  that's  so  much  better  lighted  and  warmer, 

Below,  in  that  queer  place  which  nobody  mentions, — 

— You  understand  where,     I  don't  question — down  there. 
Where  in  lieu  of  wood  blocks,  and  such  modern  inventions, 
The  Paving  Commissioners  use  "  Good  Intentions," 
Materials  which  here  would  be  thought  on  by  few  men, 
With  so  many  founts  of  Asphaltic  bitumen 
At  hand,  at  the  same  time  to  pave  and  illumine. 


To  go  on  with  my  story.     This  same  Purga-tory 
(There !  I've  got  in  the  O,  to  my  Muse's  great  glory) 
Is  close  locked,  and  the  Pope  keeps  the  key  of  it — that  I  can 
Boldly  affirm — in  his  desk  in  the  Vatican ; 

— Not  those  of  St.  Peter —     These  of  which  I  now  treat 
are 
A  bunch  by  themselves,  and  much  smaller  and  neater — 
And  so  cleverly  made,  Mr.  Chubb  could  not  frame  a 
Key  better  contrived  for  its  purpose — nor  Bramah. 

Now  it  seems  that  by  these     Most  miraculous  keys 
Not  only  the  Pope,  but  his  "  clargy,"  with  ease 
Can  let  people  in  and  out  just  as  they  please ; 
And — provided  you  "make  it  all  right"  about  fees. 
There  is  not  a  friar.  Dr.  Wiseman  will  own,  of  them, 
But  can  always  contrive  to  obtain  a  short  loan  of  them ; 

And  Basil,  no  doubt.     Had  brought  matters  about. 
If  the  little  old  woman  would  but  have  "  spoke  out," 
So  far  as  to  get  for  her  one  of  those  tickets. 
Or  passes,  which  clear  both  the  great  gates  and  wickets ; 

So  that  after  a  grill,     Or  short  turn  on  the  Mill, 
And  with  no  worse  a  singeing,  to  purge  her  iniquity. 
Than  a  Freemason  gets  in  the  "  Lodge  of  Antiquity," 

She'd  have  rubbed  off  old  scores,     Popped  out  of  doors. 
And  sheered  off  at  once  for  a  happier  port. 
Like    a    whitewashed    Insolvent    that's    "gone    through    the 
Court." 


440  THE  OLD    WOMAN  CLOTHED   IN  GRAY. 

But  Basil  was  one     Who  was  not  to  be  done 
By  any  one,  either  in  earnest  or  fun ; 
The  cunning  old  beads-telling  son  of  a  gun, 
In  all  bargains,  unless  he'd  his  quid  for  his  quo, 
Would  shake  his  bald  pate,  and  pronounce  it  "  No  Go." 

So,  unless  you're  a  dunce,     You'll  see  clearly,  at  once, 
When  you  come  to  consider  the  facts  of  the  case,  he. 
Of  course,  never  gave  her  his  Vade  in  pace ; 
And  the  consequence  was,  when  the  last  mortal  throe 
Released  her  pale  Ghost  from  these  regions  of  woe, 
The  little  old  woman  had  nowhere  to  go ! 

For  what  could  she  do  ?     She  very  well  knew 
If  she  went  to  the  gates  I  have  mentioned  to  you 
Without  Basil's  or  some  other  passport  to  show, 
The  check-takers  never  would  let  her  go  through  ; 
While,  as  to  the  other  place,  e'en  had  she  tried  it. 
And  really  had  wished  it  as  much  as  she  shied  it 
(For  no  one  who  knows  what  it  is  can  abide  it), 
Had  she  knocked  at  the  portal  with  ne'er  so  much  din. 
Though  she  died  in  what  folks  at  Rome  call  "  mortal  sin," 
Yet  Old  Nick,  for  the  life  of  him,  daren't  take  her  in, 
As  she'd  not  been  turned  formally  out  of  ''  the  pale :" — 
So  much  the  bare  name  of  the  Pope  made  him  quail. 
In  the  times  that  I  speak  of,  his  courage  would  fail 
Of  Rome's  vassals  the  lowest  and  worst  to  assail. 
Or  e'en  touch  with  so  much  as  the  end  of  his  tail ; 

Though,  now  he's  grown  older,     They  say  he's  much 
bolder, 
And  his  Holiness  not  only  gets  the  "  cold  shoulder," 
But  Nick  rumps  him  completely,  and  don't  seem  to  care  a 
Dump — that's  the  word — for  his  triple  tiara. 

Well,  what  shall  she  do?     What's  the  course  to  pursue? 
"  Try  St.  Peter  ?     The  step  is  a  bold  one  to  take, 
For  the  Saint  is,  there  can't  be  a  doubt,  '  wide  awake ;' 

But  then  there's  a  quaint     Old  proverb  says  '  Faint 
Heart  ne'er  won  fair  Lady ' — then  how  win  a  saint  ? 


A   LEGEND    OF  DOVER.  441 

I've  a  great  mind  to  try :     One  can  but  apply ; 
If  things  come  to  the  worst,  he  can  but  deny 

The  sky's  rather  high,     To  be  sure ;  but,  now  I 
That  cumbersome  carcass  of  clay  have  laid  by, 
I  am  just  in  the  'order'  which  some  folks — though  why 
I  am  sure  I  can't  tell  you — would  call  '  apple-pie.' 

Then  '  never  say  die ;'     It  won't  do  to  be  shy, 
So  I'll  tuck  up  my  shroud,  and  here  goes  for  a  fly !" 
So  said  and  so  done :   she  was  off  like  a  shot. 
And  kept  on  the  whole  way  at  a  pretty  smart  trot. 

When  she  drew  so  near     That  the  Saint  could  see  her, 
In  a  moment  he  frowned,  and  began  to  look  queer, 
And  scarce  would  allow  her  to  make  her  case  clear 
Ere  he  pursed  up  his  mouth  'twixt  a  sneer  and  a  jeer, 
With  "  It's  all  very  well — but  you  do  not  lodge  here !" 
Then,  calling  her  everything  but  "  My  dear," 
He  applied  his  great  toe  with  some  force  au  derriere, 
And  dismissed  her  at  once  with  a  flea  in  her  ear ! 

"  Alas !  poor  Ghost !"     It's  a  doubt  which  is  most 
To  be  pitied — one  doomed  to  fry,  broil,  boil,  and  roast, 
Or  one  bandied  about  thus  from  pillar  to  post, — 
To  be  all  "  abroad  " — to  be  "  stumped  "  not  to  know  where 

To  go — so  disgraced     As  not  to  be  "  placed," 
Or,  as  Crocky  would  say  to  Jem  Bland,  "  to  be  nowhere." 

However  that  be,     The  affaire  was  jinie, 
And  the  poor  wretch  rejected  by  all,  as  you  see ! 

Mr.  Oliver  Goldsmith  observes — not  the  Jew — 

That  the  "  hare  whom  the  hounds  and  the  huntsmen  pursue," 

Having  no  other  sort  of  asylum  in  view, 

"  Returns  back  again  to  the  place  whence  she  flew," — 

A  fact  which  experience  has  proved  to  be  true, 

Mr.  Gray — in  opinion  with  whom  Johnson  clashes — 

Declares  that  "  our  wonted  fires  live  in  our  ashes."* 

*  "  E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires !" — Gray. 
"A  position  at  which  Experience  revolts,  Credulity  hesitates,  and  even  Fancy 
stares '" — Joiikson. 


442  THE   OLD  'woman  CLOTHED   IN  GRAY. 

These  motives  combined,  perhaps,  brought  back  the  Hag, 

The  first  to  her  mansion,  the  last  to  her  bag, 

When  only  conceive  her  dismay  and  surprise. 

As  a  Ghost  how  she  opened  her  cold  stony  eyes. 

When  there,  on  the  spot  where  she'd  hid  her  "  supplies," 

In  an  underground  cellar  of  very  small  size, 

Working  hard  with  a  spade.     All  at  once  she  surveyed 
That  confounded  old  bandy-legged  "  Tailor  by  trade"! 

Fancy  the  tone     Of  the  half  moan,  half  groan, 
Which  burst  from  the  breast  of  the  Ghost  of  the  crone ! 
As  she  stood  there,  a  figure  'twixt  moonshine  and  stone, 
Only  fancy  the  glare  in  her  eyeballs  that  shone ! 
Although,  as  Macbeth  says,  "  they'd  no  speculation," 

While  she  uttered  that  word     Which  American  Bird, 
Or  James  Fenimore  Cooper,  would  render  "  Tarnation  !" 

At  the  noise  which  she  made     Down  went  the  spade, 
And  up  jumped  the  bandy-legged  "  Tailor  by  trade" 
(Who  had  shrewdly  conjectured,  from  something  that  fell,  her 
Deposit  was  somewhere  concealed  in  the  cellar)  ; 

Turning  round  at  a  sound     So  extremely  profound. 
The  moment  her  shadowy  form  met  his  view 
He  gave  vent  to  a  sort  of  a  lengthened  "  Bo-o — ho-o  !" — 
With  a  countenance  Keeley  alone  could  put  on. 
Made  one  grasshopper  spring  to  the  door — and  was  gone ! 

Erupit!  Evasit!     As  at  Rome  they  would  phrase  it — 
His  flight  was  so  swift  the  eye  scarcely  could  trace  it ; 
Though  elderly,  bandy-legged,  meagre,  and  sickly, 
I  doubt  if  the  Ghost  could  have  vanished  more  quickly. 
He  reached  his  own  shop,  and  then  fell  into  fits. 
And  it's  said  never  rightly  recovered  his  wits. 
While  the  chuckling  old  Hag  takes  his  place  and  there  sits ! 

I'll  venture  to  say     She'd  sat  there  to  this  day. 
Brooding  over  what  Cobbett  calls  "  vile  yellow  clay," 
Like  a  vulture,  or  other  obscene  bird  of  prey. 
O'er  the  nestful  of  eggs  she  had  managed  to  lay, 
If,  as  legends  relate — and  I  think  we  may  trust  'em — ^her 
Stars  had  not  brought  her  another-guess  customer : 


A  LEGEND   OF  DOVER.  443 

'Twas  Basil  himself! —    Come  to  look  for  her  pelf, 
But  not,  like  the  Tailor,  to  dig,  delve,  and  grovel, 
And  grub  in  the  cellar  with  pickaxe  and  shovel. 

Full  well  he  knew     Such  tools  would  not  do : 
Far  other  the  weapons  he  brought  into  play. 
Viz.,  a  wax  taper  "  hallowed  on  Candlemas  day," 

To  light  to  her  ducats ;     Holy  water  two  buckets 
(Made  with  salt — half  a  peck  to  four  gallons — which  brew's  a 
Strong  triple-X  "  strike :"  see  Jacobus-  de  Chusa). 

With  these,  too,  he  took     His  bell  and  his  book ; 
Not  a  nerve  ever  trembled,  his  hand  never  shook. 
As  he  boldly  marched  up  where  she  sat  in  her  nook, 
Glow'ring  round  with  that  wild  indescribable  look 
Which  Some  may  have  read  of,  perchance,  in  "  Nell  Cook,"  * 
All,  in  "  Martha  the  Gypsy,"  by  Theodore  Hook. 

And  now,  for  the  reason  I  gave  you  before. 

Of  what  passed  then  and  there  I  can  tell  you  no  more, 

As  no  Tailor  was  near  with  his  ear  at  the  door ; 

But  I've  always  been  told.     With  respect  to  the  gold 
For  which  she  her  "jewel  eternal"  had  sold. 

That  the  old  Harridan,     Who,  no  doubt,  knew  her  man, 
Made  some  compromise,  hit  upon  some  sort  of  plan, 
By  which  Friar  and  Ghost  were  both  equally  pinned — 
Heaven  only  knows  how  the  "Agreement"  got  wind; 

But  its  purpose  was  this.     That  the  things  done  amiss 
By  the  Hag  should  not  hinder  her  ultimate  bliss. 

Provided — "  Imprimis,     The  cash  from  this  time  is 
The  Church's,  impounded  for  good  pious  uses — 
Father  B.  shall  dispose  of  it  just  as  he  chooses. 

And  act  as  trustee.;     In  the  mean  time  that  She, 
The  said  Ghostess, — or  Ghost,  as  the  matter  may  be, — 
From  'impediment,'  'hindrance,'  and  'let'  shall  be  free. 
To  sleep  in  her  grave,  or  to  wander,  as  he, 
The  said  Friar,  with  said  Ghost  may  hereafter  agree. 
Moreover,  the  whole     Of  the  said  cash  or  '  cole ' 
Shall  be  spent  for  the  good  of  said  Old  Woman's  soul ! 

*  See  page  341. 


444  THE   OLD   WOMAN  CLOTHED   IN  GRAY. 

"  It  is  further  agreed — while  said  cash  is  so  spending, 
Said  Ghost  shall  be  fully  absolved  from  attending, 

And  shall  quiet  remain     In  the  grave,  her  domain, 
To  have,  and  enjoy,  and  uphold,  and  maintain, 
Without  molestation,  or  trouble,  or  pain. 
Hindrance,  let,  or  impediment  (over  again) 
From  Old  Nick,  or  from  any  one  else  of  his  train. 
Whether  Power, — Domination, — or  Princedom, — or  Throne,* 
Or  by  what  name  soever  the  same  may  be  known, 
Howsoe'er  called  by  Poets,  or  styled  by  Divines, — 
Himself,  his  executors,  heirs,  and  assigns. 

"  Provided  that, — nevertheless, — notwithstanding 
All  herein  contained, — if  whoever's  a  hand  in 
Dispensing  said  cash, — or  said  '  cole,' — shall  dare  venture 
To  misapply  money,  note,  bill,  or  debenture 
To  uses  not  named  in  this  present  Indenture, 
Then  that  such  sum,  or  sums,  shall  revert,  and  come  home 

again 
Back  to  said  Ghost, — who  thenceforward  shall  roam  again> 
Until  such  time,  or  times,  as  the  said  Ghost  produces 
Some  good  man  and  true,  who  no  longer  refuses 
To  put  sum,  or  sums,  aforesaid,  to  said  uses ; 
Which  duly  performed,  the  said  Ghost  shall  have  rest, 
The  full  term  of  her  natural  death,  of  the  best, 
In  full  consideration  of  this  her  bequest, 
In  manner  and  form  aforesaid, — as  exprest : — 
In  witness  whereof,  we,  the  parties  aforesaid. 
Hereunto  set  our  hands  and  our  seals — and  no  more  said, 
Being  all  that  these  presents  intend  to  express, 
W  hereas — notwithstaud  ing — and  nevertheless. 

"  Signed,  sealed,  and  delivered,  this  20th  of  May, 
Anno  Domini,  blank  (though  I've  mentioned  the  day). 
(Signed) 

Basil. 

Old  Woman  (late)  clothed  in  gray." 

*  Thrones  !  Dominations !  Princedoms !  Virtues ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  DOVER.  445 

Basil  now,  I  am  told,     Walking  off  with  the  gold, 
"Went  and  straight  got  the  document  duly  enrolled, 
And  left  the  testatrix  to  mildew  and  mould 
In  her  sepulchre,  cosy,  cool, — not  to  say  cold. 
But  somehow — though  how  I  can  hardly  divine — 

A  runlet  of  fine     Kich  Malvoisie  wine 
Found  its  way  to  the  convent  that  night  before  nine, 
With  custards,  and  "  flawns,"  and  a  "  fay  re  florentine," 
Peach,  apricot,  nectarine,  melon,  and  pine ; — 
And  some  half  a  score  Nuns  of  the  rule  Bridgetine, 
Abbess  and  all,  were  invited  to  dine 
At  a  very  late  hour, — that  is,  after  Compline, — 
— Father  Hilary's  rubies  began  soon  to  shine 
With  fresh  lustre,  as  though  newly  dug  from  the  mine ; 

Through  all  the  next  year.     Indeed,  'twould  appear 
That  the  convent  was  much  better  off  as  to  cheer ; 
Even  Basil  himself,  as  I  very  much  fear. 
No. longer  addicted  himself  to  small  beer; 

His  complexion  grew  clear.     While  in  front  and  in  rear 
He  enlarged  so,  his  shape  seemed  approaching  a  sphere. 

No  wonder  q^t  all,  then,  one  cold  winter's  night, 
That  a  servant  girl,  going  down  stairs  with  a  light 
To  the  cellar  we've  spoken  of,  saw,  with  affright, 
An  Old  Woman,  astride  on  a  barrel,  invite 
Her  to  take,  in  a  manner  extremely  polite, 
With  her  left  hand,  a  bag  she  had  got  in  her  right ; — 
For  tradition  asserts  that  the  Old  Woman's  purse 
Had  come  back  to  her  scarcely  one  penny  the  worse  ! 

The  girl,  as  they  saj^  Ran  screaming  away, 
Quite  scared  by  the  Old  Woman  clothed  in  gray ; 
But  there  came  down  a  Knight,  at  no  distant  a  day, 

Sprightly  and  gay     As  the  bird  on  the  spray, 
One  Sir  Rufus  Mountfardington,  Lord  of  Foot's-cray, 
Whose  estate,  not  unlike  those  of  most  of  our  "  Swell"  beaux, 
Was  what's,  by  a  metaphor,  termed  "  out  at  elbows ;" 
And  the  fact  was,  said  Knight  was  now  merely  delayed 
From  crossing  the  water  to  join  the  Crusade 


446  THE   OLD  WOMAN  CLOTHED  IN   GRAY. 

For  converting  the  Pagans  with  bill,  bow,  and  blade, 
By  the  want  of  a  little  pecuniary  aid 
To  buy  arms  and  horses,  the  tools  of  his  trade, 
And  enable  his  troop  to  appear  on  parade ; 

The  unquiet  Shade     Thought  Sir  Rufus,  'tis  said. 
Just  the  man  for  her  money, — she  readily  paid 
For  the  articles  named,  and  with  pleasure  conveyed 
To  his  hands  every  forthiug  she  ever  had  made ; 

But  alas  !  I'm  afraid     Most  unwisely  she  laid 
Out  her  cash — the  Beaux  yeux  of  a  Saracen  maid 
(Truth  compels  me  to  say  a  most  pestilent  jade) 
Converted  the  gallant  converter — betrayed 
Him  to  do  everything  which  a  Knight  could  degrade, 
— E'en  to  worship  Mahound  ! — She  required — He  obeyed,- 
The  consequence  was,  all  the  money  was  wasted 
On  Infidel  pleasures  he  should  not  have  tasted  ; 
So  that,  after  a  very  short  respite,  the  Hag 
Was  seen  down  in  her  cellar  again  with  her  bag. 


Don't  fancy,  dear  Reader,  I  mean  to  go  on 
Seriatim  through  so  many  ages  bygone. 

And   to  bore   you  with  names     Of  the  Squires  and  the 
Dames 
Who  have  managed,  at  times,  to  get  hold  of  the  sack, 
But  spent  the  cash  so  that  it  always  came  back  ; 

The  list  is  too  long     To  be  given  in  my  song, — 
There  are  reasons  beside  would  perhaps  make  it  wrong ; 
I  shall  merely  observe,  in  those  orthodox  days, 
When  Mary  set  Smithfield  all  o'er  in  a  blaze, 

And  showed  herself  very  se-    vere  against  heresy, 
While  many  a  wretch  scorned  to  flinch,  or  to  scream,  as  he 
Burnt  for  denying  the  Papal  supremacy. 

Bishop  Bonner  the  bag  got.     And  all  thought  the  Hag 
got 
Released,  as  he  spent  all  in  fuel  and  fagot. — 

But  somehow — though  how     I  can't  tell  you,  I  vow — 
I  suppose  by  mismanagement — ere  the  next  reign 
The  Sj)ectre  had  got  all  her  money  again. 


A  LEGEND   OF  DOVER.  447 

The  last  time,  I'm  told,    That  the  Old  Woman's  gold 
Was  obtained, — as  before,  for  the  asking, — 'twas  had 
By  a  Mr.  O — something — from  Ballinafad  ; 
And  the  whole  of  it,  so  'tis  reported,  was  sent 
To  John  Wright's,  in  account  for  the  Catholic  Rent, 
And  thus — like  a  great  deal  more  money — it  "  went !" 

So  'tis  said  at  Maynooth,     But  I  can't  think  it's  truth ; 
Though  I  know  it  was  boldly  asserted  last  season, 
Still  I  can  not  believe  it ;  and  that  for  this  reason, 
It's  certain  the  cash  has  got  back  to  its  owner  ! 
— Now  no  part  of  the  Rent  to  do  so  e'er  was  known — or, 
In  any  shape,  ever  come  home  to  the  donor. 

Gentle  Reader  !  you  mu^t  know  the  proverb,  I  think — 
"  To  a  blind  horse  a  Nod  is  as  good  as  a  Wink !" 

Which  some  learned  Chap,     In  a  square  College  cap, 
Perhaps,  would  translate  by  the  words  "  Verhum  Sap  !" 

— Now  should  it  so  chance    That  you're  going  to  France 
In  the  course  of  next  Spring,  as  you  probably  may, 

Do  pull  up,  and  stay.     Pray,     If  but  for  a  day, 
At  Dover,  through  which  you  must  pass  on  your  way, 
At  the  York, — or  the  Ship, — where,  as  all  people  say. 
You'll  get  good  wine  yourself,  and  your  horses  good  hay ; 
Perhaps,  my  good  friend,  you  may  find  it  will  pay, 
And  you  cannot  lose  much  by  so  short  a  delay. 

First  Dine  ! — you  can  do     That  on  joint  or  ragout — 
Then  say  to  the  waiter, — "  I'm  just  passing  through — 
Pray, — where  can  I  find  out  the  old  Maison  Dieu  f" — 
He'll  show  you  the  street  (the  French  call  it  a  Rue, 
But  you  won't  have  to  give  here  a  petit  ecu). 

Well, — when   you've  got   there, — never   mind  how  you're 

taunted, — 
Ask  boldly,  "  Pray,  which  is  the  house  here  that's  haunted  ?" 
— I'd  tell  you  myself,  but  I  can't  recollect 
The  proprietor's  name ;  but  he's  one  of  that  sect 


448  RAISING    THE  DEVIL. 

Who   call   themselves   "  Friends,"   and   whom   others   call 

"  Quakers,"— 
You'll  be  sure  to  find  out  if  you  ask  at  the  Baker's, — 

Then  go  down  with  a  light     To  the  cellar  at  night ! 
And  as  soon  as  you  see  her  don't  be  in  a  fright ! 

But  ask  the  old  Hag,     At  once,  for  the  bag ! — 
If  you  find  that  she's  shy,  or  your  senses  would  dazzle, 
Say,  "  Ma'am,  I  insist ! — in  the  name  of  St.  Basil !" 

If  she  gives  it  you,  seize     It,  and — do  as  you  please — 
But  there  is  not  a  person  I've  asked  but  agrees, 
You  should  spend — part  at  least — for  the  Old  Woman's  ease ! 
— For  the  rest — if  it  must  go  back  some  day — why — let  it ! — 
Meanwhile,  if  you're  poor,  and  in  love,  or  in  debt,  it 
May  do  you  some  good,  and — I  wish  you  may  get  it  ! ! ! 


To  whom  is  the  name  of  Cornelius  Agrippa  otherwise  than 
familiar,  since  a  "  Magician,"  of  renown  not  inferior  to  his  own, 
has  brought  him  and  his  terrible  "  Black  Book "  again  before 
the  world  ?  That  he  was  celebrated,  among  other  exploits,  for 
raising  the  devil,  we  are  all  well  aware ; — how  he  performed  this 
feat,  at  least  one — and  that,  perjiaps,  the  most  certain — method 
by  which  he  did  it  is  thus  described. 


laaiismg  ti)e  IBebil. 

A  LEGEND  OF  COKNELIUS  AGEIPPA. 

"    A    ND  hast  thou  nerve  enough  ?"  he  said, 
■^LA-  That  gray  Old  Man,  above  Avhose  head 

Unnumbered  years  had  rolled, — 
"  And  hast  thou  nerve  to  view,"  he  cried, 
"  The  incarnate  Fiend  that  Heaven  defied ! 

— Art  thou  indeed  so  bold  ? 


"  Then  in  his  startled  pupil's  face 

He  dashed — an  Empty  Purse !" 

p.  449. 


A   LEGEND   OF  CORNELIUS  AGRIPPA.  449 

"  Say,  canst  thou,  with  unshrinking  gaze, 
Sustain,  rash  youth,  the  withering  blaze 

Of  that  unearthly  eye. 
That  blasts  where'er  it  lights, — the  breath 
That,  like  the  Simoom,  scattei-s  death 

On  all  that  yet  ca7i  die ! 

— ^"  Barest  thou  confront  that  fearful  form, 
That  rides  the  whirlwind,  and  the  storm. 

In  wild  unholy  revel ! 
The  terrors  of  that  blasted  brow, 
Archangel's  once, — though  ruined  now — 

— A.J, — dar'st  thou  face  The  Devil  ?" 

"  I  dare !"  the  desperate  Youth  replied, 
And  placed  him  by  that  Old  Man's  side, 

In  fierce  and  frantic  glee, 
XJnblenched  his  cheek,  and  firm  his  limb : 
— "  No  paltry  juggling  Fiend,  but  Him, 

— The  Devil  ! — I  fain  would  see ! — 

"  In  all  his  Gorgon  terrors  clad. 

His  worst,  his  fellest  shape !"  the  Lad 

Rejoined  in  reckless  tone. — 
— "  Have  then  thy  wish  !"  Agrippa  said. 
And  sighed,  and  shook  his  hoary  head, 

With  many  a  bitter  groan. 

He  drew  the  mystic  circle's  bound. 
With  skull  and  cross-bones  fenced  around ; 
He  traced  full  many  a  sigil  there  ; 
He  muttered  many  a  backward  pray'r. 

That  sounded  like  a  curse — 
"  He  comes !" — he  cried  with  wild  grimace, 
"  The  fellest  of  Apollyon's  race !"— 
— Then  in  his  startled  pupil's  face 

He  dashed — an  Empty  Pukse  ! ! 
29 


450  SAINT  MEDARD. 


One  more  legend,  and  then,  gentle  Eeader,  "A  merry- 
Christmas  to  you  and  a  happy  New  Year !"  We  have  trav- 
elled over  many  lands  together,  and  had  many  a  good-humored 
laugh  by  the  way  ; — if  we  have,  occasionally,  been  "  more 
merry  than  wise,"  at  least  we  have  not  jostled  our  neighbors 
on  the  road, — much  less  have  we  kicked  any  one  into  a  ditch. 
So,  wishing  you  heartily  all  the  compliments  of  the  season, 
and  thanking  you  cordially  for  your  good  company,  I,  Thomas 
Ingoldsby,  bid  you  heartily  farewell,  and  leave  you  in  that  of 


Saint  ilEetrartr. 

A   LEGEND   OF  AFEIC. 


"Heus  tu  !  inquit  Diabolus,  hei  mihi!  fessis  insuper  humeris  reponenda  est  sarcina; 
fer  opem  qusesD !" 

"  Le  Diable  a  dcs  vices ; — c'est  IS,  ce  qui  le  perd. — II  est  gourmand.  II  eut  dans  cette 
minute-la  I'idee  de  joindre  I'dme  de  Medard  aux  autres  ilmes  qu'il  allait  emporter. — 
Se  rejeter  en  arrifere,  saisir  de  sa  main  droite  son  poignard,  et  en  percer  I'outre  avec  une 
violence,  et  un  rapidite  formidable, — c'est  ce  que  lit  Medaid.  Le  Dialjle  poussa  un 
grand  cri.  Les  ames  delivres  s'enfuirent  par  I'issue  que  le  poignard  venait  de  leur 
ouvrir,  laissant  dans  I'outre  leurs  noirceurs,  leurs  crimes,  et  leurs  mechancetes,"  etc.  etc. 


I 


N  good  King  Dagobert's  palmy  days, 
When  Saints  were  many,  and  sins  were  few, 
Old  Nick,  'tis  said,     Was  sore  bested 
One  evening, — and  could  not  tell  what  to  do- 


He  had  been  East,  and  he  had  been  West, 
And  far  had  he  journeyed  o'er  land  and  sea ; 
For  women  and  men     Were  warier  then. 
And  he  could  not  catch  one  where  he'd  now  catch  three. 

He  had  been  North,  and  he  had  been  South, 
From  Zembla's  shores  unto  far  Peru, 

Ere  he  filled  the  sack     Which  he  bore  on  his  back- 
Saints  were  so  many,  and  sins  so  few ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  AFRIC.  451 

The  way  was  long,  and  the  day  was  hot ; 
His  wings  were  weary ;  his  hoofs  were  sore ; 

And  scarce  could  he  trail     His  nerveless  tail, 
As  it  furrowed  the  sand  on  the  Red  Sea  shore ! 

The  day  had  been  hot,  and  the  way  was  long ; 
— Hoof-sore,  and  weary,  and  faint,  was  he ; 

He  lowered  his  sack,     And  the  heat  of  his  backy 
As  he  leaned  on  a  palm-trunk,  blasted  the  tree  ! 

He  sat  himself  down  in  the  palm-tree's  shade, 
And  he  gazed,  and  he  grinned  iu  pure  delight 
As  he  peeped  inside     The  bufialo's  hide 
He  had  sewn  for  a  sack,  and  had  crammed  so  tight. 

For,  though  he'd  "  gone  over  a  good  deal  of  ground," 
And  game  had  been  scarce,  he  might  well  report 

That  still  he  had  got    A  decentish  lot, 
And  had  had,  on  the  whole,  not  a  bad  day's  sport. 

He  had  picked  up  in  France  a  Maxtre  de  danse, — 
A  Maitresse  en  titre, — two  smart  Grisettes, 

A  Courtier  at  play, —    And  an  English  JRovs 
Who  had  bolted  from  home  without  paying  his  debts. — 

— He  had  caught  in  Great  Britain  a  Scrivener's  clerk, 
A  Quaker, — a  Baker, — a  Doctor  of  Laws, — 

And  a  jockey  of  York —     But  Paddy  from  Cork 
"  Desaved  the  ould  divil,"  and  slipped  through  his  claws ! 

In  Moscow  a  Boyar  knouting  his  wife — 
A  Corsair's  crew  in  the  Isles  of  Greece — 

And,  under  the  dome     Of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome, 
He  had  snapped  up  a  nice  little  Cardinal's  Niece. — 

He  had  bagged  an  Inquisitor  fresh  from  Spain — 
A  mendicant  Friar — of  Monks  a  score, 

A  grave  Don  or  two.     And  a  Portuguese  Jew, 
Whom  he  nabbed  while  clipping  a  new  Moidore. 


452  THE  LAY  OF  ST.   MEDARD. 

And  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  licked  his  lips, 

"  Those  nice  little  Dears ! — what  a  delicate  roast ! — 

— Then,  that  fine  fat  Friar,     At  a  very  quick  fire, 
Dressed  like  a  Woodcock,  and  served  on  toast !" 

— At  the  sight  of  tit-bits  so  toothsome  and  choice 
Never  did  mouth  water  more  than  Nick's  ; 

But, — alas !  and  alack ! —    He  had  stufled  his  sack 
So  full  that  he  found  himself  quite  "  in  a  fix :" 

For,  all  he  could  do,  or  all  he  could  say, 
When,  a  little  recruited,  he  rose  to  go, 

Alas !  and  alack ! —     He  could  not  get  the  sack 
Up  again  on  his  shoulders  "  whether  or  no !" 

Old  Nick  looked  East,  Old  Nick  looked  West, 
With  many  a  stretch,  and  with  many  a  strain, 

He  bent  till  his  back     Was  ready  to  crack, 
And  he  pulled,  and  he  tugged, — but  he  tugged  in  vain. 

Old  Nick  looked  North,  Old  Nick  looked  South : 
— Weary  was  Nicholas,  weak  and  faint, — 

And  he  was  aware     Of  an  old  man  there, 
In  Palmer's  weeds,  who  looked  much  like  a  Saint. 

Nick  eyed  the  Saint, — then  he  eyed  the  Sack — 

The  greedy  old  glutton  ! — and  thought,  with  a  grin, 

"  Dear  heart  alive !     If  I  could  but  contrive 
To  pop  that  elderly  gentleman  in ! — 

"  For,  were  I  to  choose  among  all  the  ragollts 
The  cumne  can  exhibit, — flesh,  fowl,  or  fish, — 

To  myself  I  can  paint     That  a  barbecued  Saint 
Would  be  for  my  palate  the  best  side-dish !" 

Now  St.  Medard  dwelt  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile, 
— In  a  Pyramis  fast  by  the  lone  Red  Sea. 

(We  call  it  "  Semiramis,"     Why  not  say  Pyramis  ? — 
Why  should  we  change  the  S  into  D  ?) 


A  LEGEND    OF  AFRIC.  453 

St.  Medard  he  was  a  holy  man, 
A  holy  man  I  ween  was  he, 

And  even  by  day,    When  he  went  to  pray, 
He  would  light  up  a  candle,  that  all  might  see ! 

He  salaamed  to  the  East, — he  salaamed  to  the  West ; — 

— Of  the  gravest  cut,  and  the  holiest  brown. 

Were  his  Palmer's  weeds, —    And  he  fingered  his  beads 

With  the  right  side  up,  and  the  wrong  side  down. — 
******** 

(^Hiatus  in  MSS.  valde  deflendus.') 

St.  Medard  dwelt  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile ; — 
He  had  been  living  there  years  fourscore, — 

And  now,  "  taking  the  air.     And  saying  a  prayer," 
He  was  walking  at  eve  on  the  Red  Sea  shore. 


Little  he  deemed — that  holy  man ! — 

Of  Old  Nick's  wiles,  and  his  fraudful  tricks, — 
When  he  was  aware     Of  a  Stranger  there, 
Who  seemed  to  have  got  himself  into  a  fix. 

Deeply  that  Stranger  groaned  and  sighed, 

That  wayfaring  Stranger,  grizzly  and  gray : — 

"  I  can't  raise  my  sack     On  my  poor  old  back ! — 
Oh,  lend  me  a  lift,  kind  Gentleman,  pray ! — 

"  For  I  have  been  East,  and  I  have  been  West, 
Foot-sore,  weary,  and  faint  am  I, 

And,  unless  I  get  home     Ere  the  Curfew  borne, 
Here  in  this  desert  I  well  may  die !" 

"  Now  Heaven  thee  save !" — Nick  winced  at  the  words, 
As  ever  he  winces  at  words  divine — 

"  Now  Heaven  thee  save ! —     What  strength  I  have,- 
It's  little,  I  wis, — shall  be  freely  thine ! 


454  THE  LAY  OF  ST.  MEDARD. 

"  For  foul  befall  that  Christian  man 

Who  shall  fail,  in  a  fix, — woe  worth  the  while  1 — 

His  hand  to  lend    To  foe,  or  to  friend, 
Or  to  help  a  lame  dog  over  a  stile !" 

— St.  Medard  hath  booned  himself  for  the  task : 
To  hoist  up  the  sack  he  doth  well  begin  ; 

But  the  fardel  feels     Like  a  bag  full  of  eels. 
For  the  folks  are  all  curling  and  kicking  within. — 

St.  Medard  paused — he  began  to  "smoke" — 
For  a  Saint, — if  he  isn't  exactly  a  cat, — 

Has  a  very  good  nose.     As  this  world  goes. 
And  not  worse  than  his  neighbor's  for  "  smelling  a  rat." 

The  Saint  looked  up,  and  the  Saint  looked  down ; 
He  "  smelt  the  rat,"  and  he  "  smoked"  the  trick  ; 

— When  he  came  to  view     His  comical  shoe, 
He  saw  in  a  moment  his  friend  was  Nick ! 

He  whipped  out  his  oyster-knife,  broad  and  keen — 
A  Brummagem  blade  which  he  always  bore, 
To  aid  him  to  eat.     By  way  of  a  treat, 
The  "  natives"  he  found  on  the  Ked  Sea  shore : — 

He  whipped  out  his  Brummagem  blade  so  keen, 
And  he  made  three  slits  in  the  buffalo's  hide, 

And  all  its  contents.     Through  the  rents  and  the  vents. 
Came  tumbling  out, — and  away  they  all  hied ! 

Away  went  the  Quaker — away  went  the  Baker — 
Away  went  the  Friar — that  fine  fat  Ghost, 

Whose  marrow  Old  Nick     Had  intended  to  pick, 
Dressed  like  a  Woodcock,  and  served  on  toast ! 

— Away  went  the  nice  little  Cardinal's  Niece, — 

And  the  pretty  Grisettes, — and  the  Dons  from  Spain — 

And  the  Corsair's  crew,     And  the  coin-clipping  Jew, — 
And  they  scampered,  like  lamplighters,  over  the  plain : — 


A   LEGEND    OF  AFRIC.  455 

— Old  Nick  is  a  black-looking  fellow  at  best, 
Ay,  e'en  when  he's  pleased  ;  but  never  before 

Had  he  looked  so  black     As  on  seeing  his  sack 
Thus  cut  into  slits  on  the  Red  Sea  shore. 

You  may  fancy  his  rage,  and  his  deep  despair, 
When  he  saw  himself  thus  befooled  by  one 

Whom,  in  anger  wild,     He  profanely  styled 
"  A  stupid  old  snufF-colored  Son  of  a  gun !" 

Then  his  supper — so  nice ! — that  had  cost  him  such  pains — 
— Such  a  hard  day's  work — now  "  all  on  the  go !" 

— 'Twas  beyond  a  joke,     And  enough  to  provoke 
The  mildest,  and  best-tempered.  Fiend  below ! 

Nick  snatched  up  one  of  those  great  big  stones, 
Found  in  such  numbers  on  Egypt's  plains. 

And  he  hurled  it  straight    At  the  Saint's  bald  pate. 
To  knock  out  "  the  gruel  he  called  his  brains." 

Straight  at  his  pate  he  hurled  the  weight. 

The  crushing  weight  of  that  great  big  stone ; — 

But  St.  Medard     Was  remai'kably  hard. 
And  solid,  about  the  parietal  bone. 

And,  though  the  whole  weight  of  that  great  big  stone 
Came  straight  on  his  pate,  with  a  great  big  thump. 

It  failed  to  graze     The  skin, — or  to  i-aise 
On  the  tough  epidermis  a  lump,  or  bump ! — 

As  the  hail  bounds  off  from  the  pent-house  slope, — 
As  the  cannon  recoils  when  it  sends  its  shot, — 

As  the  finger  and  thumb     Of  an  old  woman  come 
From  the  kettle  she  handles,  and  finds  too  hot ; — 

— Or,  as  you  may  see,  in  the  Fleet,  or  the  Bench, — 
— Many  folks  do  in  the  course  of  their  lives, — 

The  well-struck  ball     Rebound  from  the  wall. 
When  the  Gentlemen  jail-birds  are  playing  at  "  fives :" 


456  THE  LAY  OF  ST.  MEDARD. 

All  these, — and  a  thousand  fine  similes  more, — 
Such  as  all  have  heard  of,  or  seen,  or  read 

Recorded  in  print,     May  give  you  a  hint 
How  the  stone  bounced  ofi"  from  St.  Medard's  head  I 

— And  it  curled,  and  it  twirled,  and  it  whirled  in  air, 
As  this  great  big  stone  at  a  tangent  flew ! 

— Just  missing  his  crown.     It  at  last  came  down 
Plump  upon  Nick's  Orthopedical  shoe  I 

Oh !  what  a  yell  and  a  screech  were  there ! — 
How  did  he  hop,  skip,  bellow,  and  roar ! 

— "  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !" —     You  might  hear  him  here. 
Though  we're  such  a  way  off  from  the  Red  Sea  shore ! 

It  smashed  his  shin,  and  it  smashed  his  hoof, 
Notwithstanding  his  stout  Orthopedical  shoe  ; 

And  this  is  the  way     That,  from  that  same  day. 
Old  Nick  became  what  the  French  call  Boiteux  ! 

Quakers,  and  Bakers,  Grisettes,  and  Friars, 
And  Cardinal's  Nieces, — wherever  ye  be, 

St.  Medard  bless ;     You  can  scarcely  do  less 
If  you  of  your  corps  possess  any  esiprit. 

And,  mind  and  take  care,  yourselves, — and  beware 
How  you  get  in  Nick's  buffalo  bag ! — if  you  do, 
I  very  much  doubt     If  you'll  ever  get  out, 
Now  sins  are  so  many,  and  Saints  so  few ! ! 

MORAL. 

Gentle  Reader,  attend     To  the  voice  of  a  friend ! 
And  if  ever  you  go  to  Heme  Bay  or  Southend, 
Or  any  gay  wat'ring-place  outside  the  Nore, 
Don't  walk  out  at  eve  on  the  lone  sea-shore  ! 
— Unless  you're  too  saintly  to  care  about  Nick, 
And  are  sure  that  your  head  is  sufficiently  thick ! — 

Learn  not  to  be  greedy ! — and,  when  you've  enough, 
Don't  be  anxious  your  bags  any  tighter  to  stuff — 


A   LEGEND    OF  AFRIC.  457 

Recollect  that  good  fortune  too  far  you  may  push, 

And,  "  A  BIRD    IN   THE    HAND    IS  WORTH   TWO   IN    THE   BUSH  !" 

Then  turn  not  each  thought  to  increasing  your  store. 
Nor  look  always  like  "Oliver  asking  for  more !" 

Gourmmidise  is  a  vice — a  sad  failing,  at  least ; — 

So  remember  "  Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast !" 

And  don't  set  your  heart  on  "stewed,"  "fried,"  "boiled,"  or 

"  roast," 
Nor  on  delicate  "  Woodcocks  served  up  upon  toast !" 

Don't  give  people  nicknames ! — don't,  even  in  fun. 

Call  any  one  "  Snuff-colored  Son  of  a  gun !" 

Nor  fancy,  because  a  man  nous  seems  to  lack. 

That,  whenever  you  please,  you  can  "  give  him  the  sack !" 

Last  of  all,  as  you'd  thrive,  and  still  sleep  in  whole  bones. 
If  you've  any  glass  windows  never  throw  stones  ! ! 


THE 


INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS. 


IHIRD   SERIES. 


Some  few  words  are  necessary,  by  way  of  explanation,  in 
submitting  the  present  volume  to  the  reader.  It  is  enough  to 
state,  as  regards  its  object,  that  a  wish  was  conveyed  to  his 
family  by  certain  of  the  late  Mr.  Barham's  friends,  and 
through  them  by  many  also  who  knew  him  only  from  his 
writings,  that  a  collection  should  be  made  of  the  remaining 
*'  Ingoldsby  Legends,"  and  printed  uniformly  with  the  first 
and  second  series,  and  that  at  the  same  time  a  more  complete 
Memoir  of  his  Life  should  be  prefixed  than  any  that  had 
hitherto  appeared  in  the  public  prints.  Such  a  request  was  of 
course  entitled  to  every  attention — the  more  so  as  it  came 
strongly  backed  by  the  judgment  of  the  gentleman  who  pro- 
posed to  undertake  the  publication  in  question. 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  questioned  whether,  under  any  circum- 
stances, a  very  near  relative  is  a  fit  person  to  fill  the  office  of 
Biographer:  independently  of  the  prepossession  by  which  he 
must  almost  necessarily  be  swayed,  and  of  the  restraint  which 
a  consciousness  of  its  existence  induces,  expressions  both  of 
eulogy  and  the  reverse  seem  to  fall  ungracefully  from  his  pen. 
The  writer  has  no  immunity  to  plead  in  the  present  instance 
from  the  eff'ects  of  this  law.  There  were  considerations,  how- 
ever, which  precluded  his  entrusting  the  task  to  another; 
among  the  most  weighty  of  which  was  an  unwillingness  to 
submit  correspondence  and  memoranda,  written  with  that 
unguarded  openness  for  which  Mr.  Barham  was  remarkable, 

(458) 


PREFACE  TO   THE  THIRD  SERIES.  459 

to  the  eye  of  a  third  person  :  the  unavoidable  exposure  indeed 
of  matters  of  confidence,  of  which  he  was  the  depositary, 
would  have  rendered  it  highly  improper  to  do  so. 

There  are  two  classes  of  readers,  in  particular,  to  whom  this 
imperfect  sketch  will  doubtless  prove  unsatisfactory :  those  who 
may  take  it  up  in  the  expectation  of  finding  a  budget  of  con- 
fidential letters  and  private  anecdotes  of  the  gifted  individuals 
still  living  with  whom  it  was  the  lot  of  its  subject  to  be  asso- 
ciated ;  and  those  who  may  desire  a  more  regular  and  detailed 
biography,  and  who  may  be  apt  to  consider  the  following  pages 
of  too  unconnected  and  too  light  a  character  to  answer  to  the 
title  which  they  bear.  For  the  first  of  these  we  have  no  an- 
swer ;  but  we  would  entreat  the  second  to  bear  in  mind  that  it 
is  only  in  a  literary  point  of  view — only  as  a  poet  whose  wit 
and  originality  attracted  no  ordinary  notice — only,  in  short,  as 
"  Thomas  Ingoldsby  " — that  Mr.  Barham  is  brought  before  the 
public  at  all ;  and  it  is  to  these  traits  of  character  that  we  have 
been  mainly  confined,  as  being  alone  of  sufiicient  general  inter- 
est to  demand  or  bear  illustration. 

On  the  other  hand,  should  it  be  urged  that  the  poetical  trifles 
here  appended  are  not  of  a  quality  to  advance  the  author's  rep- 
utation, we  must  reply,  at  the  risk  of  being  taxed  with  a  tend- 
ency to  argue  in  a  circle,  that  a  reputation  of  the  kind  was  not 
an  object  of  his  ambition.  To  say  that  he  was  indifierent  to 
applause  and  censure  would  be  to  invest  him  with  a  degree  of 
stoicism  which  he  was  among  the  last  either  to  profess  or  feel ; 
but  the  fact  of  all  his  productions  having  appeared  either  anon- 
ymously or  pseudonymously  is  sufficient  to  show  that  he  pos- 
sessed no  inordinate  craving  after  fame.  Writing,  in  a  word, 
was  to  him  an  amusement,  the  more  agreeable  if  it  chanced  to 
conduce  to  that  of  others.  It  is  in  a  similar  spirit  that  the 
present  collection  is  laid  before  the  public ;  and  a  hope  is  en- 
tertained that  it  may  not  altogether  do  discredit  to  the  par- 
tiality of  those  at  whose  suggestion  it  has  been  made. 

Most  of  these  poems  have  been  previously  published  in  vari- 
ous periodicals ;  some  few  are  now  printed  for  the  first  time. 
In  the  selection  of  the  former,  which  are  of  an  evanescent  char- 
acter, for  the  most  part  bearing  upon  the  gossip  of  the  day, 
attention  has  almost  of  necessity  been  paid  more  to  the  com- 


460  PREFACE   TO    THE   THIRD   SERIES. 

parative  notoriety  of  the  subject  than  to  the  degree  of  humor 
evinced  in  the  performance. 

There  remains,  in  conclusion,  but  to  express  a  hope  that  no 
one  will  feel  aggrieved  by  the  appearance  of  any  of  the  his- 
toriettes,  etc,  which  have  been  inserted.  The  great  variety  of 
amusing  matter  of  this  kind  contained  in  Mr.  Barham's  mem- 
oranda furnished  perpetual  temptations  to  transgress ;  how 
they  have  been  resisted  it  is  for  others  to  decide.  The  anec- 
dotes recorded  of  living  persons  are  few  in  number,  and  refer 
principally  to  men  raised  by  their  genius  above  the  common 
level  of  society,  and  who,  as  a  necessary  condition  to  the  em- 
inence they  enjoy,  must  be  content  to  dispense  with  much  of 
that  privilege  of  privacy  which  their  less  distinguished  brethren 
have  a  right  to  claim  ;  it  is  a  kind  of  quit-rent  of  popularity 
which  they  are  doubtless  not  indisposed  to  pay. 

R.  H.  D.  BARHAM. 

LOLWOETH,  Nov.  17,  1847. 


A   LEGEND   OF  LANGUEDOC.  461 

2rf)e  Hortr  of  Cftoulouisie. 

A  LEGEND  OF  LANGUEDOC. 

"Veluti  in  speculum."— I%ea<re  Royal,  Cement  Garden. 

COUNT  RAYMOND  rules  in  Languedoc, 
O'er  the  champaign  fair  and  wide, 
With  town  and  stronghold  many  a  one, 
Washed  by  the  wave  of  the  blue  Garonne, 
And  from  far  Auvergne  to  Kousillon, 
And  away  to  Narbonne, 
And  the  mouths  of  the  Rhone ; 
And  his  Lyonnois  silks,  and  his  Narbonne  honey, 
Bring  in  his  lordship  a  great  deal  of  money. 

A  thousand  lances,  stout  and  true, 

Attend  Count  Raymond's  call ; 
And  Knights  and  Nobles  of  high  degree. 
From  Guienne,  Provence,  and  Burgundy, 
Before  Count  Raymond  bend  the  knee, 

And  vail  to  him  one  and  all. 

And  Isabel  of  Aragon 

He  weds,  the  pride  of  Spain, — 
You  might  not  find  so  rich  a  prize, 
A  Dame  so  "  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise !" 
So  pious  withal — with  such  beautiful  eyes — 
So  exactly  the  Venus  de  Medicis  size — • 

In  all  that  wide  domain. 

Then  his  cellar  is  stored     As  well  as  his  board. 
With  the  choicest  of  all  La  Belle  France  can  afford ; 
Chambertin,  Chateau  Margaux,  La  Rose,  and  Lafitte, 
With  Moet's  Champagne,  "  of  the  Comet  year,"  "  neat 
As  imported," — "  fine  sparkling," — and  not  over  sweet ; 
While  his  Chaplain,  good  man,  when  called  in  to  say  grace, 
Would  groan,  and  put  on  an  elongated  face, 


462  THE  LORD    OF  THOULOUSE. 

At  such  turtle,  such  turbot,  John  Dory,  aud  plaice ; 
Not  without  blushiug,  pronouncing  a  beuison, 
Worthy  old  soul !  on  such  very  fat  venison, 

Sighing  to  think     Such  victuals  and  drink 
Are  precisely  the  traps  by  which  Satan  makes  men  his  own, 

And  grieving  o'er  scores     Of  huge  barbecued  Boars, 
Which  he  thinks  should  not  darken  a  Christian  man's  doors, 
Though  'twas  all  very  well  Pagan  Poets  should  rate  'em 
As  "Animal  propter  convivia  natum." 

He  was  right,  I  must  say,     For  at  this  time  of  day, 
When  we're  not  so  precise,  whether  cleric  or  lay. 
With  respect  to  our  food,  as  in  time  so  passe, 
We  still  find  our  Boars,  whether  grave  ones  or  gay, 
After  dinner,  at  least,  very  much  in  the  w^ay 
(We  spell  the  word  now  with  an  E,  not  an  A) ; 
And  as  honest  Pere  Jacques  was  inclined  to  spare  diet,  he 
Gave  this  advice  to  all  grades  of  society, 
"  Think  less  of  pudding — and  think  more  of  piety." 

As  to  his  clothes,     Oh !  nobody  knows 
What  lots  the  Count  had  of  cloaks,  doublets,  and  hose, 

Pantoiifles,  with  bows     Each  as  big  as  a  rose, 
And  such  shirts  with  lace  ruffles,  such  waistcoats,  and  those 
Indescribable  garments  it  is  not  thought  right 
To  do  more  than  whisper  to  oreilles  polite. 

Still  in  spite  of  his  power,  and  in  spite  of  his  riches, 

In  spite  of  his  dinners,  his  dress,  and  his which  is 

The  strangest  of  all  things — in  spite  of  his  Wife, 
The  Count  led  a  rather  humdrum  sort  of  life. 
He  grew  tired,  in  fact,  of  mere  eating  and  drinking. 
Grew  tired  of  flirting,  aud  ogling,  and  winking 

At  nursery  maids     As  they  walked  the  Parades, 
The  Crescents,  the  Squares,  and  the  fine  Colonnades, 
And  the  other  gay  places  which  young  ladies  use 
As  their  promenade  through  the  good  town  of  Thoulouse. 

He  was  tired  of  hawking,  and  fishing,  and  hunting, 
Of  billiards,  short-whist,  chicken-hazard,  and  punting ; 


A    LEGEND    OF  LANGUEDOC.  463 

Of   popping    at    pheasants,     Quails,    woodcocks,    and 

peasants ; 
Of  smoking,  and  joking,     And  soaking,  provoking 
Such  headaches  next  day     As  his  fine  St.  Peray, 
Though  the  best  of  all  Rhone  wines,  can  never  repay, 
Till  weary  of  war,  women,  roast-goose,  and  glory, 
With  no  great  desire  to  be  "  famous  in  story," 
All  the  day  long.     This  was  his  song, 
"  Oh  dear !  what  will  become  of  us  ? 
Oh  dear !  what  shall  we  do  ? 
We  shall  die  of  blue  devils  if  some  of  us 
Can't  hit  on  something  that's  new !" 

Meanwhile  his  sweet  Countess,  so  pious  and  good, 

Such  pomps  and  such  vanities  stoutly  eschewed, 

With  all  fermented  liquors  and  high-seasoned  food  ; 

Devilled    kidneys,   and    sweetbreads,   and    ducks    and   green 

peas. 
Baked  sucking-pig,  goose,  and  all  viands  like  these, 
Hashed  calf 's-head  included,  no  longer  could  please  j 
A  curry  was  sure  to  elicit  a  breeze. 
So  was  ale,  or  a  glass  of  port-wine  after  cheese. 

Indeed,  anything  strong.     As  to  tipple,  was  wrong ; 
She  stuck  to  "  fine  Hyson,"  "  Bohea,"  and  "  Souchong," 
And  similar  imports  direct  from  Hong-Kong. 
In  vain  does  the  family  doctor  exhort  her 
To  take  with  her  chop  one  poor  half-pint  of  porter ; 

No ! — she  alleges     She's  taken  the  pledges ! 

Determined  to  aid     In  a  gen'ral  Crusade 
Against  publicans,  vintners,  and  all  of  that  trade, 
And  to  bring  in  sherbet,  ginger-pop,  lemonade, 
Eau  sueree,  and  drinkables,  mild  and  home  made  ; 
So  she  claims  her  friends'  efforts,  and  vows  to  devote  all  hers 
Solely  to  found  "  The  Thoulousian  Teetotallers." 

Large  sums  she  employs     In  dressing  small  boys 
In  long  duffle  jackets,  and  short  corduroys, 
And  she  boxes  their  ears  when  they  make  too  much  noise ; 
In  short,  she  turns  out  a  complete  Lady  Bountiful, 
Filling  with  drugs  and  brown  Holland  the  county  full. 


464  THE  LORD    OF  THOULOUSE. 

Now  just  at  the  time  when  our  story  commences, 

It  seems  tliat  a  case     Past  the  common  took  place. 
To  entail  on  her  ladyship  further  expenses, 
In  greeting  with  honor  befitting  his  station 
The  Prior  of  Aries,  with  a  Temperance  Legation, 
Despatched  by  Pope  Urban,  who  seized  this  occasion 
To  aid  in  diluting  that  part  of  the  nation. 

An  excellent  man.     One  who  stuck  to  his  can 
Of  cold  water  "without" — and  he'd  take  such  a  lot  of  it; 

None  of  your  sips     That  just  moistens  the  lips  ; 
At  one  single  draught  he'd  toss  off  a  whole  pot  of  it, — 

No  such  bad  thing,     By  the  way,  if  they  bring 
It  you  iced,  as  at  Verey's,  or  fresh  from  the  spring, 
When  the  Dog  Star  compels  folks  in  town  to  take  wing ; 
Though  I  own  even  then  I  should  see  no  great  sin  in  it 
Were  there  three  drops  of  Sir  Felix's  gin  in  it. 


Well,  leaving  the  lady  to  follow  her  pleasure. 

And  finish  the  pump  with  the  Prior  at  leisure, 

Let's  go  back  to  Raymond,  still  bored  beyond  measure. 

And  harping  away     On  the  same  dismal  lay, 
"  Oh  dear !  what  will  become  of  us  ? 
Oh  dear !  what  can  we  do  ? 
We  shall  die  of  blue  devils  if  some  of  us 
Can't  find  out  something  that's  new !" 
At  length,  in  despair  of  obtaining  his  ends 
By  his  own  mother  wit,  he  takes  courage  and  sends. 
Like  a  sensible  man  as  he  is,  for  his  friends. 
Not"  his  Lyndhursts  or  Eldons,  or  any  such  high  sirs, 
But  only  a  few  of  his  "  backstairs  "  advisers ; 

"  Come  hither,"  says  he,     "  My  gallants  so  free. 
My  bold  Rigmarole,  and  ray  brave  Rigmaree, 
And  my  grave  Baron  Proser,  now  listen  to  me ! 
You  three  can't  but  see  I'm  half  dead  with  ennui. 

What's  to  be  done  ?     I  must  have  some  fun, 
Ahd  I  will  too,  that's  flat — ay,  as  sure  as  a  gun  ; 
So  find  me  out  *  something  new  under  the  sun,' 
Or  I'll  knock  your  three  jobbernowls  all  into  one! 


A   LEGEND    OF  LANGUEDOC.  465 

You  three     Agree !     Come,  what  .shall  it  be  ? 

Resolve  me — propound  in  three  skips  of  a  flea !" 
Rigmarole  gave  a  "  Ha  !"  Rigmaree  gave  a  "  Hem  !" 
They  looked  at  Count  Raymond — Count  Raymond  at  them, 
As  much  as  to  say  "  Have  you  nikil  ad  reni  f 

At  length  Baron  Proser     Responded,  "  You  know,  sir, 
That  question's  some  time  been  a  regular  poser ; 

Dear  me ! — let  me  see, —    In  the  way  of  a  '  spree ' 

Something    new? — Eh? — No! — Yes! No! — 'tis    really   no 

go,  sir." 

Says  the  Count,  "  Rigmarole,     You're  as  jolly  a  soul. 
On  the  whole,  as  King  Cole,  with  his  pipe  and  his  bowl ; 
Come,  I'm  sure  you'll  devise  something  novel  and  droll." — 
In  vain, — Rigmarole,  with  a  look  most  profound, 
With  his  hand  to  his  heart  and  his  eye  to  the  ground, 
Shakes  his  head  as  if  nothing  was  there  to  be  found. 

"  I  can  only  remai-k    That  as  touching  a  '  lark ' 
I'm,  as  much  as  your  Highness  can  be,  in  the  dark ; 
I  can  hit  on  no  novelty — none,  on  my  life. 
Unless,  peradventure,  you'd  'tea'  with  your  wife!" 

Quoth  Raymond,  "  Enough ! 

Nonsense ! — humbug ! — fudge  I — stuff! 
Rigmarole,  you're  an  ass, — you're  a  regular  Muff! 
Drink  tea  with  her  ladyship  ? — I  ? — not  a  bit  of  it ! 
Call  you  that  fun  ? — faith,  I  can't  see  the  wit  of  it. 

Mort  de  ma  vie  !    My  dear  Rigmaree, 
You're  the  man,  after  all, — come,  by  way  of  a  fee. 
If  you  will  but  be  bright,  from  the  simple  degree 
Of  a  knight  I'll  create  you  at  once  a  Mar-quis  ! 
Put  your  conjuring  cap  on — consider  and  see 
If  you  can't  beat  that  stupid  old  '  Sumph'  with  his  '  tea !' " 

"  That's  the  thing !  that  will  do !     Ay,  marry,  that's  new !" 
Cries  Rigmaree,  rubbing  his  hands ;  "  that  will  please — 
My  'Conjuring  cap' — it's  the  thing ; — it's  '  the  cheese !' 
It  was  only  this  morning  I  picked  up  the  news ; 
Please  your  Highness,  a  Conjurer's  come  to  Thoulouse ; 

I'll  defy  you  to  name  us     A  man  half  so  famous 
For  devildoms, — Sir,  it's  the  great  Nostradamus  I 
30 


466  THE  LORD    OF  THOU  LOUSE. 

Cornelius  Agrippa,  'tis  said,  went  to  school  to  him, 
Gyngell's  an  ass  and  old  Faustus  a  fool  to  him. 
Talk  of  Lilly,  Albertus,  Jack  Dee  I — pooh  !  all  six 
He'd  soon  put  in  a  pretty  particular  fix ; 
Why,  he'd  beat,  at  digesting  a  sword,  or  '  Gun  tricks' 
The  great  Northern  Wizard  himself  all  to  sticks! 

I  should  like  to  see  you     Try  to  sauter  le  coup 
With  this  chap  at  short  whist,  or  unlimited  loo  •, 
By  the  Pope,  you'd  soon  find  it  a  regular  *  Do.' 
Why,  he  does  as  he  likes  with  the  cards, — when  he's  got  'em, 
There's  always  an  Ace  or  a  King  at  the  bottom ; 
Then  for  casting  Nativities ! — only  you  look 
At  the  volume  he's  published, — that  wonderful  book ! 
In  all  France  not  another,  to  swear  I  dare  venture,  is 
Like,  by  long  chalks,  his  'Prophetical  Centuries' — 
Don't  you  remember  how,  early  last  summer,  he 
Warned  the  late  King  'gainst  the  Tournament  mummery  ? 
Didn't  his  Majesty  call  it  all  flummery. 

Scorning    The  warning,     And  get  the  next  morning 
His  poke  in  the  eye  from  that  clumsy  Montgomery? 

Why,  he'll  tell  yon,  before    You're  well  inside  his  door, 
All  your  Highness  may  wish  to  be  up  to,  and  more!" 

"  Bravo ! — capital ! — come,  let's  disguise  ourselves — quick ! 
— Fortune's  sent  him  on  purpose  here,  just  in  the  nick  ; 
We'll  see  if  old  Hocus  will  smell  out  the  trick ; 
Let's  start  ofi"  at  once — Rigmarce,  you're  a  Bripk !" 

The  moon  in  gentle  radiance  shone 

O'er  lowly  roof  and  lordly  bower, 

O'er  holy  pile  and  armed  tower. 
And  danced  upon  the  blue  Garonne : 
Through  all  that  silvered  city  fair. 
No  sound  disturbed  the  calm,  cool  air. 

Save  the  lover's  sigh  alone ! 
Or  where,  perchance,  some  slumberer's  nose 
Proclaimed  the  depth  of  his  repose, 
Provoking  from  connubial  toes 

A  hint — or  elbow  bone ; 


A   LEGEND   OF  LANOUEDOC.  467 

It  might,  with  such  trifling  exceptions,  be  said 

That  Thoulouse  was  as  still  as  if  Thoulouse  were  dead, 

And  her  "  oldest  inhabitant"  buried  in  lead. 


But  hark !  a  sound  invades  the  ear, 
Of  horses'  hoofs  advancing  near ! 
They  gain  the  bridge — they  pass — they're  here ! 
Side  by  side     Two  strangers  ride, 
For  the  streets  in  Thoulouse  are  sufficiently  wide. 
That  is,  I'm  assured  they  are — not  having  tried. 

— See,  now  they  stop     Near  an  odd-looking  shop, 
And  they  knock,  and  they  ring,  and  they  won't  be  denied. 
At  length  the  command     Of  some  unseen  hand 
Chains,  and  bolts,  and  bars  obey. 
And  the  thick-ribbed  oaken  door,  old  and  gray, 
In  the  pale  moonlight  gives,  slowly,  way. 

They  leave  their  steeds  to  a  page's  care. 
Who  comes  mounted  behind  on  a  Flanders  mare. 
And  they  enter  the  house,  that  resolute  pair, 
With  a  blundering  step,  and  a  dare-devil  air, 
And  ascend  a  long,  darksome,  and  rickety  stair ; 
While,  armed  with  a  lamp  that  just  helps  you  to  see 
How  uncommonly  dark  a  place  can  be, 
The  grimmest  of  lads,  with  the  grimmest  of  grins. 
Says,  "  Gentlemen,  please  to  take  care  of  your  shins : 
Who  ventures  this  road  need  be  firm  on  his  pins ! 
Now  turn  to  the  left — now  turn  to  the  right — 
Now  a  step — now  stoop — now  again  upright — 
Now  turn  once  again,  and  directly  before  ye 
's  the  door  of  the  great  Doctor's  Labora-tory." 

A  word !  a  blow !     And  in  they  go ! 
No  time  to  prepare,  or  to  get  up  a  show. 
Yet  everything  there  they  find  quite  comme  ilfaut — 
Such  as  queer-looking  bottles  and  jars  in  a  row, 
Retorts,  crucibles,  such  as  all  conjurers  stow 
In  the  rooms  they  inhabit,  huge  bellows  to  blow 


468  THE  LORD    OF  THOULOUSE. 

The  fire  burning  blue  with  its  sulphur  and  tow ; 
From  the  roof  a  huge  crocodile  hangs  rather  low, 
With  a  tail  such  as  that  which,  we  all  of  us  know, 
Mr.  Waterton  managed  to  tie  in  a  bow ; 
Pickled  snake,  potted  lizards,  in  bottles  and  basins, 
Like  those  at  Morel's,  or  at  Fortnum  and  Mason's, 
All  articles  found,  you're  aware  without  telling, 
In  every  respectable  conjurer's  dwelling. 

Looking  solemn  and  wise,     Without  turning  his  eyes, 
Or  betraying  the  slightest  degree  of  surprise, 
In  the  midst  sits  the  Doctor — his  hair  is  white, 
And  his  cheek  is  wan — but  his  glance  is  bright. 
And  his  long  black  roquelaure,  not  over  tight. 
Is  marked  with  strange  characters  much,  if  not  quite. 
Like  those  on  the  bottles  of  green  and  blue  light 
Which  you  see  in  a  chemist's  shop-window  at  night. 
His  iigure  is  tall  and  erect — rather  spare  about 
Ribs, — and  no  wonder, — such  folks  never  care  about 

Eating  or  drinking^     While  reading  and  thinking 
Don't  fatten — his  age  might  be  sixty  or  thereabout. — 

Raising  his  eye,  so  grave  and  so  sage. 

From  some  manuscript  work  of  a  bygone  age. 

The  Seer  very  composedly  turns  down  the  page, 

Then  shading  his  sight.     With  his  hand,  from  the  light. 
Bays,  "  Well,  sirs,  what  would  you  at  this  time  of  night? 
What  brings  you  abroad  these  lone  chambers  to  tread, 
When  all  sober  folks  are  at  home  and  abed  ?" 

"  Trav'llers  we.     In  our  degree. 

All  strange  sights  we  fain  would  see. 

And  hither  we  come  in  company  ; 
We  have  far  to  go,  and  we  come  from  far. 
Through  Spain  and  Portingale,  France  and  Navarre ; 

We  have  heard  of  your  Bame,    And  your  fame,  and  our 
aim, 
Great  sir,  is  to  witness,  ere  yet  we  depart 
From  Thoulouse, — and  to-morrow  at  cock-crow  we  start, — 
Your  skill — we  would  fain  crave  a  touch  of  your  art !" 


A  LEGEND    OF  LANGUEDOC.  469 

"  Now  naye,  now  naye — no  trav'llers  ye ! 

Nobles  ye  be     Of  high  degree ! 
With  half  an  eye  that  one  may  easily  see, — 
Count  Raymond,  your  servant ! — Yours,  Lord  Rigmaree ! 
I  must  call  you  so  now,  since  you're  made  a  Mar-quis; 
Faith,  clever  boys  both,  but  you  can't  humbug  me ! 

No  matter  for  that !     I  see  what  you'd  be  at — 

Well — pray  no  delay,     For  it's  late,  and  ere  day 
I  myself  must  be  hundreds  of  miles  on  my  way ; 
So  tell  me  at  once  what  you  want  with  me — say ! 

Shall  I  call  up  the  dead     From  their  mouldering  bed  ? — 
Shall  I  send  you  yourselves  down  to  Hades  instead  ? — 
Shall  I  summon  Old  Harry  himself  to  this  spot?" — 
— "  Ten  thousand  thanks,  No  !  we  had  much  rather  not. 

We  really  can't  say     That  we're  curious  that  way ; 
But,  in  brief,  if  you'll  pardon  the  trouble  we're  giving, 
We'd  much  rather  take  a  sly  peep  at  the  living ! 

Rigmaree,  what  say  you,  in     This  case,  as  to  viewing 
Our  spouses,  and  just  ascertain  what  they're  doing  ?" 
"  Just  what  pleases  your  Highness — I  don't  care  a  sous  in 
The  matter — but  don't  let  Old  Nick  and  his  crew  in !" 
— "  Agreed  ! — pray  proceed  then,  most  sage  Nostradamus, 
And  show  us  our  wives — I  dare  swear  they  won't  shame  us !" 

A  change  comes  o'er  the  Wizard's  face, 
And  his  solemn  look  by  degrees  gives  place 
To  a  half  grave,  half  comical,  kind  of  grimace. 

"  For  good  or  for  ill,     I  work  your  will ! 

Yours  be  the  risk  and  mine  the  skill ; 

Blame  not  my  art  if  unpleasant  the  pill !" 

He  takes  from  a  shelf,  and  he  pops  on  his  head, 

A  square  sort  of  cap,  black,  and  turned  up  with  red, 

And  desires  not  a  syllable  more  may  be  said ; 

He  goes  on  to  mutter.     And  stutter,  and  sputter 
Hard  words,  such  as  no  men  but  wizards  dare  utter. 

"  Dies   mies ! — Hocus  pocus —     Adsis   Demon !   non   est 
jokus! 


470  THE  LORD    OF  THOULOUSE. 

Hi  Cockalorum — don't  provoke  us !     Adesto !     Presto ! 

Put  forth  your  best  toe !" 
And  many  more  words,  to  repeat  which  would  choke  us, — 
Such  a  sniff  then  of  brimstone ! — it  did  not  last  long, 
Or  they  could  not  have  borne  it,  the  smell  was  so  strong. 

A  mirror  is  near,     So  large  and  so  clear. 
If  you  priced  such  a  one  in  a  drawing-room  here, 
And  was  asked  fifty  pounds,  you'd  not  say  it  was  dear ; 
But  a  mist  gathered  round  at  the  words  of  the  Seer, 

Till  at  length,  as  the  gloom     Was  subsiding,  a  room 
On  its  broad  polished  surface  began  to  appear, 
And  the  Count  and  his  comrade  saw  plainly  before  'em 
The  room  Lady  Isabel  called  her  "  Sanctorum." 

They   start — well    they   might —     With  surprise  at   the 
sight,— 
Methinks  I  hear  some  lady  say,  "  Serve  'em  right !" 

For  on  one  side  the  fire     Is  seated  the  Prior, 

At  the  opposite  corner  a  fat  little  Friar  ; 
By  the  side  of  each  gentleman,  easy  and  free, 
Sits  a  lady,  as  close  as  close  well  may  be. 
She  might  almost  as  well  have  been  perched  on  his  knee. 

Dear  me !  dear  me !     Why  one's  Isabel — she 
On  the  opposite  side's  La  Marquise  Rigmaree  ! 

To  judge  from  the  spread     On  the  board,  you'd  have  said 
That  the  partie  quarrce  had  like  aldermen  fed ; 
And  now  from  long  flasks,  with  necks  covered  with  lead, 
They  were  helping  themselves  to  champagne,  white  and  red. 

Hobbing  and  nobbing.     And  nodding  and  bobbing. 

With  many  a  sip     Both  from  cup  and  from  lip, 
And  with  many  a  toast  followed  up  by  a  "  Hip  ! — 

Hip ! — hip  ! — huzzay  !"     — The  Count,  by  the  way. 
Though  he  sees  all  they're  doing,  can't  hear  what  they  say, 

Notwithstanding  both  he     And  Mar-quis  Rigmaree 
Are  so  vexed  and  excited  at  what  they  can  see, 
That  each  utters  a  sad  word  beginning  with  D. 

That  word  once  spoke,     The  silence  broke. 
In  an  instant  the  vision  is  covered  with  smoke ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  LANGUEDOC.  471 

But  enough  has  been  seen.     "  Horse !  horse !  and  away !" 
They  have,  neither,  the  least  inclination  to  stay, 
E'en  to  thank  Nostradamus,  or  ask  what's  to  pay. — 

They  rush   down   the  stair.     How,  they   know  not,  nor 
care. 
The  next  moment  the  Count  is  astride  on  his  bay, 
And  my  Lord  Rigmaree  on  his  mettlesome  gray ; 

They  dash  through  the  town.     Now  up,  and  now  down, 
And  the  stones  rattle  under  their  hoofs  as  they  ride. 
As  if  poor  Thoulouse  were  as  mad  as  Cheapside :  * 

Through   lane,   alley,   and    street.      Over   all   that  they 
meet. 
The  Count  leads  the  way  on  his  courser  so  fleet, 
My  Lord  Rigmaree  close  pursuing  his  beat. 
With  the  page  in  the  rear  to  protect  the  retreat. 
Where  the  bridge  spans  the  river,  so  wide  and  so  deep. 
Their  headlong  career  o'er  the  causeway  they  keep. 
Upsetting  the  watchman,  two  dogs,  and  a  sweep. 
All  the  town  population  that  was  not  asleep. 
They  at  length  reach  the  castle,  just  outside  the  town. 
Where — in  peace  it  was  usual  with  knights  of  renown — 
The  portcullis  was  up,  and  the  drawbridge  was  down. 
They  dash  by  the  sentinels — "  France  et  Thoulouse  /" 
Ev'ry  soldier  (they  then  wore  cocked  hats  and  long  queues, 
Appendages  banished  from  modern  reviews) 
His  arquebus  lowered,  and  bowed  to  his  shoes ; 
While  Count  Raymond  pushed  on  to  his  lady's  boudoir — he 
Had  made  up  his  mind  to  make  one  at  her  soiree. 

He  rushed  to  that  door.     Where  ever  before 
He  had  rapped  with  his  knuckles,  and  "  tirled  at  the  pin," 
Till  he  heard  the  soft  sound  of  his  lady's  "  Come  in !" 
But  now,  with  a  kick  from  his  iron-heeled  boot, 
Which,  applied  to  a  brick  wall,  at  once  had  gone  through't, 

He  dashed  open  the  lock ;     It  gave  way  at  the  shock ! 
( — Dear  ladies,  don't  think,  in  recording  the  fact. 
That  your  bard's  for  one  moment  defending  the  act ; 

*  "The  stones  did  rattle  underneath, 
As  if  Cheapside  were  mad." 

Gilpin's  Tour  in  3Iiddlescx  ami  Herts. 


472  THE  LORD    OF  THOU  LOUSE. 

No — it  is  not  a  gentleman's — none  but  a  low  body 

Now  could  perform  it) — and  there  he  saw — NOBODY ! ! 

Nobody  ?— No ! !     Oh,  ho !— Oh,  ho ! 
There  was  not  a  table — there  was  not  a  chair 
Of  all  that  Count  Raymond  had  ever  seen  there 
(They'd  maroon-leather  bottoms  well  stuffed  with  horse-hair) 

That  was  out  of  its  place ! —     There  was  not  a  trace 
Of  a  party — there  was  not  a  dish  or  a  plate — 
No  sign  of  a  table-cloth — nothing  to  prate 
Of  a  supper,  sy7nposium,  or  sitting  up  late ; 
There  was  not  a  spark  of  fire  left  in  the  grate, 
It  had  all  been  poked  out,  and  remained  in  that  state. 

If  there  was  not  a  fire,     Still  less  was  there  Friar, 
Marquise,  or  long  glasses,  or  Countess,  or  Prior, 
And  the  Count,  who  rushed  in  open  mouthed,  was  struck  dumb, 
And  could  only  ejaculate,  "  Well ! — this  is  rum  !" 
He  rang  for  the  maids — had  them  into  the  room, 
AVith  the  butler,  the  footman,  the  coachman,  the  groom. 
He  examined  them  all  very  strictly — but  no ! 
Notwithstanding  he  cross-  and  re-questioned  them  so, 
'Twas  in  vain — it  was  clearly  a  case  of  "  No  Go  !" 

"  Their  lady,"  they  said,     "  Had  gone  early  to  bed. 
Having  rather  complained  of  a  cold  in  her  head — 
The  stout  little  Friar,  as  round  as  an  apple, 
Had  passed  the  whole  night  in  a  vigil  in  chapel, 
While  the  Prior  himself,  as  he'd  usually  done, 
Had  rung  in  the  morning,  at  half-after  one. 
For  his  jug  of  cold  water  and  twopenny  bun. 
And  been  visible,  since  they  were  brought  him,  to  none. 

But,"  the  servants  averred, 

"  From  the  sounds  that  were  heard 
To  proceed  now  and  then  from  the  father's  sacellum, 

They  thought  he  was  purging     His  sins  with  a  scourging. 
And  making  good  use  of  his  knotted  fiagellum." 

For  Madame  Rigmaree,     They  all  testified,  she 
Had  gone  up  to  her  bed-chamber  soon  after  tea, 
And  they  really  supposed  that  there  still  she  must  be, 

Which  her  spouse,  the  Mar-quis,     Found  at  once  to  agree 
With  the  rest  of  their  tale,  when  he  ran  up  to  see. 


A   LEGEND    OF  LANGUEDOC.  473 

Alack  for  Count  Raymond  !  he  could  not  conceive 
How  the  case  really  stood,  or  know  what  to  believe ; 
Nor  could  Rigniaree  settle  to  laugh  or  to  grieve. 

There  was  clearly  a  hoax,     But  which  of  the  folks 
Had  managed  to  make  them  the  butt  of  their  jokes, 
Wife  or  Wizard,  they  both  knew  no  more  than  Jack  Nokes  ; 

That  glass  of  the  Wizard's    Stuck  much  in  their  gizzards, 
His  cap,  and  his  queer  cloak  all  X's  and  Izzards ; 
Then  they  found,  when  they  came  to  examine  again, 
Some  slight  falling  off  in  the  stock  of  champagne. 
Small,  but  more  than  the  butler  could  fairly  explain. 
However,  since  nothing  could  make  the  truth  known. 
Why, — they  thought  it  was  best  to  let  matters  alone. 

The  Count  in  the  garden     Begged  Isabel's  pardon 
Next  morning  for  waking  her  up  in  a  fright, 
.By  the  racket  he'd  kicked  up  at  that  time  of  night : 
And  gave  her  his  word  he  had  ne'er  misbehaved  so 
Had  he  not  come  home  as  tipsy  as  David's  sow. 
Still,  to  give  no  occasion  for  family  snarls. 
The  Friar  was  packed  back  to  his  convent  at  Aries, 

While  as  for  the  Prior,     At  Raymond's  desire 
The  Pope  raised  his  rev'reuce  a  step  or  two  higher, 
And  made  him  a  bishop  in  partihus — where 
His  see  was  I  cannot  exactly  declare. 
Or  describe  his  cathedral,  not  having  been  there ; 
But  I  dare  say  you'll  all  be  prepared  for  the  news. 
When  1  say  'twas  a  good  many  miles  from  Thoulouse, 
Where  the  prelate,  in  order  to  set  a  good  precedent, 
Was  enjoined,  as  a  sine  qua  non,  to  be  resident. 

You  will  fancy,  with  me.    That  Count  Raymond  was  free, 
For  the  rest  of  his  life,  from  his  former  ennui ; 
Still  it  somehow  occurred  that  as  often  as  he 
Chanced  to  look  in  the  face  of  my  Lord  Rigmaree, 
There  was  something  or  other — a  trifling  degree 
Of  constraint,  or  embarrassment — easy  to  see. 
And  which  seemed  to  be  shared  by  the  noble  Mar-quis, 
While  the  ladies — the  queerest  of  all  things,  by  half,  in 
]My  tale — never  met  from  that  hour  without  laughing. 


474  THE  LORD    OF  TIIOULOUSE. 

* 

MORAL. 

Good  gentlemen  all,  who  are  subjects  of  Hymen, 
Don't  make  new  acquaintances  rashly,  but  try  men ! 
Avoid  above  all  things  your  cunning  (that's  sly)  men ! 
Don't  go  out  o'  nights     To  see  conjuring  sleights, 
But  shun  all  such  people,  delusion  whose  trade  is ; 
Be  wise ! — stay  at  home  and  take  tea  Avith  the  ladies. 

If  you  chance  to  be  out,     At  a  "  regular  bout," 
And  get  too  much  of  "Abbot's  Pale  Ale"  or  "  Brown  Stout," 
Don't  be  cross  when  you  come  home  at  night  to  your  spouse, 
Nor  be  noisy,  nor  kick  up  a  dust  in  the  house! 
Be  careful  yourself,  and  admonish  your  sons. 
To  beware  of  all  folks  who  love  twopenny  buns ! 
And  don't  introduce  to  your  wife  or  your  daughter 
A  sleek,  meek,  weak  gent — who  subsists  on  cold  water ! 


The  main  incident  recorded  in  the  following  excerpta  from 
our  family  papers  has  but  too  solid  a  foundation.  The  portrait 
of  Roger  Ingoldsby  is  not  among  those  in  the  gallery ;  but  I 
have  some  recollection  of  having  seen,  when  a  boy,  a  picture 
answering  the  description  here  given  of  him,  much  injured,  and 
lying  without  a  frame  in  one  of  the  attics. 


A   FAMILY  LEGEND.  475 

STije  ffl2Eetrtring=:3iag; 

OE,    THE    BUCCANEER'S    CUESE. 
A   FAMILY   LEGEND. 

IT  has  a  jocund  sound, 
That  gleeful  marriage  chime, 
As  from  the  old  and  ivied  tower 
It  peals,  at  the  early  matin  hour, 

Its  merry,  merry  round  ; 
And  the  Spring  is  in  its  prime, 

And  the  song-bird,  on  the  spray. 
Trills  from  his  throat,  in  varied  note, 
An  emulative  lay — 
It  has  a  joyous  sound  ! ! 

And  the  Vicar  is  there  with  his  wig  and  his  book, 
And  the  Clerk,  with  his  grave,  gttasi-sanctified  look. 
And  there  stand  the  village  maids,  all  with  their  posies. 
Their  lilies,  and  daffy-down-dillies,  and  roses, 

Dight  in  white,     A  comely  sight, 
Fringing  the  path  to  the  left  and  the  right ; 
— From  our  nursery  days  we  all  of  us  know 
Ne'er  doth  "  Our  Ladye's  garden  grow " 
So  fair  for  a  "  Grand  Horticultural  Show " 
As  when  bordered  with  "  pretty  maids  all  on  a  row." 
And  the  urchins  are  there,  escaped  from  the  rule 
Of  that  "  Limbo  of  Infants,"  the  National  School, 

Whooping  and  bawling.     And  squalling  and  calling, 

And  crawling  and  creeping,     And  jumping  and  leaping. 
Bo-peeping  'midst  "  many  a  mouldering  heap"  in 
Whose  bosom  their  own  "  rude  forefathers  "  are  sleeping ; 
— Young  rascals ! — instead  of  lamenting  and  weeping, 

Laughing  and  gay,     A  gorge  deployee — 
Only  now  and  then  pausing — and  checking  their  play, 
To  "  wonder  what  'tis  makes  the  gentlefolks  stay." 


476  THE   WEDDING-DAY. 

Ah,  well-a-day !     Little  deem  they, 
Poor  iguoraut  dears !  the  bells,  ringing  away, 

Are  anything  else     Thau  mere  parish  bells, 
Or  that  each  of  them,  should  Ave  go  into  its  history, 
Is  but  a  "  Symbol "  of  some  deeper  mystery — 

That  the  clappers  and  ropes     Are  mere  practical  tropes 
Of  "trumpets"  and  "  tongues,"  and  of  "preachers"  and  popes, 
Unless  Clement  the  Fourth's  worthy  Chaplain,  Durand,  err, — 
See  the  "  Rationale  "  of  that  goosey -gander. 

Gently !  gently.  Miss  Muse !     Mind  your  Ps  and  your  Qs  J 
Don't  be  malapert — laugh.  Miss,  but  never  abuse! 
Calling  names,  whether  done  to  attack  or  to  back  a  schism, 
Is,  Miss,  believe  me,  a  great  piece  of  jackass-ism. 

And  as,  on  the  whole.     You're  a  good-natured  soul, 

You  must  never  enact  such  a  pitiful  role. 
No,  no,  Miss,  pull  up,  and  go  back  to  your  boys 
In  the  churchyard,  who're  making  this  hubbub  and  noise — 
But  hush !  there's  an  end  to  their  romping  and  mumming, 
For  voices  are  heard — here's  the  company  coming ! 

And  see, — the  avenue  gates  unfold. 

And  forth  they  pace,  that  bridal  train, 
The  grave,  the  gay,  the  young,  the  old, — 

They  cross  the  green  and  grassy  lane. 
Bridesman,  Bridesmaid,  Bridegroom,  Bride, 
Two  by  two,  and  side  by  side. 
Uncles  and  aunts,  friends  tried  and  proved. 
And  cousins,  a  great  many  times  removed. 
A  fairer  or  a  gentler  she, 
A  lovelier  maid,  in  her  degree, 
Man's  eye  might  never  hope  to  see, 
Than  darling,  bonnie  Maud  Ingoldsby, 
The  flow'r  of  that  goodly  company ; 
While  whispering  low,  with  bated  voice. 
Close  by  her  side,  her  heart's  dear  choice. 
Walks  Fredville's  hope,  young  Valentine  Boys. 
— But  where,  oh  where.     Is  lugoldsby's  heir  ? 
Little  Jack  Ingoldsby  ? — where,  oh  where  ? 


A    FAMILY  LEGEND.  477 

Why,  he's  here,  and  he's  there,     And  he's  everywhere — 
He's  there,  and  he's  here ;     In  the  front— in  the  rear, — 
Now  this  side,  now  that  side, — now  far,  and  no^y  near — 
The  Puck  of  the  party,  the  darling  "  pet "  boy. 
Full  of  mischief  and  fun,  and  good  humor  and  joy  ; 
With  his  laughing  blue  eye,  and  his  cheek  like  a  rose, 
And  his  long  curly  locks,  and  his  little  snub  nose ; 
In  his  tunic,  and  trousers,  and  cap — there  he  goes ! 
Now  pinching  the  bridesman, — now  teasing  his  sister. 
And  telling  the  bridesmaids  how  "  Valentine  kissed  her ;" 
The  torment,  tlje  plague,  the  delight  of  them  all, 
See,  he's  into  the  churchyard ! — he's  over  the  wall — 
Gambolling,  frolicking,  capering  ^way, 
He's  the  first  in  the  church,  be  the  second  who  may ! 


'Tis  o'er ;  the  holy  rite  is  done, 
The  rite  that  "  incorporates  two  in  one," 
— And  now  for  the  feasting,  and  frolic,  and  fun ! 
Spare  we  to  tell  of  the  smiling  and  sighing. 
The  shaking  of  hands,  the  embracing,  and  crying, 
The  "toot — toot — toot"     Of  the  tabor  and  flute, 
Df  the  white-wigged  Vicar's  prolonged  salute,    • 
3r  of  how  the  blithe  "  College  Youths," — rather  old  stagers, 
A-Ccustomed,  for  years,  to  pull  bell-ropes  for  wagers, — 
Rang,  faster  than  ever,  their  "  triple-bob-MAJORS  " 

(So  loud  as  to  charm  ye     At  once  and  alarm  ye ; 
— "  Symbolic,"  of  course,  of  that  rank  in  the  army). 

5pare  we  to  tell  of  the  fees  and  the  dues 
Do  the  "  little  old  woman  that  opened  the  pews," 
])f  the  largesse  bestowed  on  the  Sexton  and  Clerk, 
Df  the  four-year-old  sheep  roasted  whole  in  the  park, 

Of  the  laughing  and  joking.     The  quafllng  and  smoking, 
\.nd  chaffing,  and  broaching — that  is  to  say,  poking 
\.  hole  in  a  mighty  magnificent  tub 
!)f  what  men,  in  our  hemisphere,  term  "  Humming  Bub," 


478  THE  M-EDDING-DAY. 

But  which  gods, — who,  it  seems,  use  a  different  lingo 
From  mortals, — are  wont  to  denominate  "  Stingo." 


Spare  we  to  tell  of  the  horse-collar  grinning ; 

The  cheese !  the  reward  of  the  ugly  one  winning ; 

Of  the  young  ladies  racing  for  Dutch  body-linen, — 

The  soapy-tailed  sow, — a  rich  prize  when  you've  caught  her,— 

Of  little  boys  bobbing  for  pippins  in  water ; 

The  smacks  and  the  whacks,     And  the  jumpers  in  sacks, 
These  down  on  their  noses  and  those  on  their  backs ; — 
Nor  skills  it  to  speak  of  those  darling  old  ditties. 
Sung  rarely  in  hamlets  now,  never  in  cities. 
The  "King  and  the  Miller,"  the  "Bold  Rohin  Hood" 
"Chevy  Chase;'  "Gilderoy"  and  the  " Bahes  in  the  Wood!" 

— You'll  say  that  my  taste     Is  sadly  misplaced. 
But  I  can't  help  confessing  these  simple  old  tunes. 
The  "  Auld  Rohin  Grays,"  a^nd  the  "  Aileen  Aroons," 
The  "  Gramachree  Mollys,"  and  "  Siveet  Bonny  Boons," 

Are  dearer  to  me,     In  a  tenfold  degree. 
Than  a  fine  fantasia  from  over  the  sea  ; 
And,  for  sweetness,  compared  with  a  Beethoven  fugue,  are 
As  "  best-refined  loaf"  to  the  coarsest  "  brown  sugar ;"  * 
— Alack,  for  the  Bard's  want  of  science !  to  which  he  owes 
All  this  mislikiug  of  foreign  eapricios  ! — 

Not  that  he'd  say     One  word,  by  the  way, 
To  disparage  our  new  Idol,  Monsieur  Duprez — 
But  he  grudges,  he  owns,  his  departed  half-guinea. 
Each  Saturday  night  when,  devoured  by  chagrin,  he 
Sits  listening  to  singers  whose  names  end  in  iui. 

But  enough  of  the  rustics — let's  leave  them  pursuing 
Their  out-of-door  gambols,  and  just  take  a  view  iu 
The  inside  the  hall,  and  see  what  they  are  doing ; 

And  first  there's  the  Squire,     The  hale,  hearty  sire 
Of  the  bride, — with  his  coat-tails  subducted  and  higher. 


*  Ad  Amieum  Servieniem  ad  legem — 

Tliis  rhyme,  if,  wlien  scanned  by  your  critical  ear,  it 
Is  not  quite  legitimate,  comes  pretty  near  it. — T.  I, 


I 


A    FAMILY  LEGEND.  479 

A  thought,  thau  they're  commonly  wont  to  aspire ; 

His  back  and  his  buckskins  exposed  to  the  fire ; — 

— Bright,  bright  are  his  buttons, — and  bright  is  the  hue 

Of  his  squarely-cut  coat  ol  fine  Saxony  blue ; 

And  bright  the  shalloon  of  his  little  quilled  queue; 

— White,  white  as  "  Young  England's,"  the  dimity  vest 

Which  descends  like  an  avalanche  o'er  his  broad  breast, 

Till  its  further  progression  is  put  in  arrest 

By  the  portly  projection  that  springs  from  his  chest, 

Overhanging  the  garment — that  can't  be  exprest ; 

— White,  white  are  his  locks, — which,  had  Nature  fair  play, 

Had  appeared  a  clear  brown,  slightly  sprinkled  with  gray  ^ 

But  they're  white  as  the  peaks  of  Plinlimmon  to-day, 

Or  Ben  Nevis,  his  pate  is  si  Men  poudre  ! 

Bright,  bright  are  the  boots  that  envelop  his  heels, 

— Bright,  bright  is  the  gold  chain  suspending  his  seals, 

And  still  brighter  yet  may  the  gazer  descry 

The  tear-drop  that  spangles  the  fond  father's  eye 

As  it  lights  on  the  bride — 

His  beloved  one — the  pride 
And  delight  of  his  heart, — severed  now  from  his  side ; — 

But  brighter  than  all.     Arresting  its  fall. 
Is  the  smile  that  rebukes  it  for  spangling  at  all, 
— A  clear  case,  in  short,  of  what  old  poets  tell,  as 
Blind  Homer,  for  instance,  ev  SaKpvm  -yelag. 

Then,  there  are  the  Bride  and  the  Bridegroom,  withdrawn 
To  the  deep  Gothic  window  that  looks  on  the  lawn. 
Ensconced  on  a  squab  of  maroon-colored  leather. 
And  talking — and  thinking,  no  doubt — of  the  weather. 

But  here  comes  the  party — Room !  room  for  the  guests ! 
In  their  Pompadour  coats,  and  laced  rufiles,  and  vests, 

— First,  Sir  Charles  Grandison,     Baronet,  and  his  son, 
Charles, — the  mamma  does  not  venture  to  "  show  " — 

— Miss  Byron,  you  know.     She  was  called  long  ago — 
For  that  lady,  'twas  said,  had  been  playing  the  devil. 
Last  season,  in  town,  with  her  old  beau.  Squire  Greville, 


480  THE  WEDDING-DAT. 

Which  very  much  shocked,  and  chagrined,  as  may  well  be 
Supposed,  "  Doctor  Bartlett,"  and  "  Good  Uncle  Selby." 
■ — Sir  Charles,  of  course,  could  not  give  Greville  his  gruel,  in 
Order  to  prove  his  abhorrence  of  duelling, 
Nor  try  for,  deterred  by  the  serious  expense,  a 
Complete  separation,  a  thoro  et  mensd, 
So  he  "  kept  a  calm  sough,"  and,  when  asked  to  a  party, 
A  dance,  or  a  dinner,  or  tea  and  ecarte, 
He  went  with  his  son,  and  said,  looking  demurely, 
He'd  "  left  her  at  home,  as  she  found  herself  pooi'ly." 
Two  foreigners  near,     "Of  distinction,"  appear; 
A  pair  more  illustrious  you  ne'er  heard  of,  or  saw. 
Count  Ferdinand  Fathom, — Count  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw, 
All  covered  with  glitt'ring  bijouterie  and  hair — Poles, 
Whom  Lord  Dudley  Stuart  calls  "Patriot," — Hook  "Bare 

Poles ;" 
Such  rings,  and  such  brooches,  such  studs,  and  such  pins ! 

'Twere  hard  to  say  which      Were  more  gorgeous  and 

rich. 
Or  more  truly  Mosaic?,  their  chains  or  their  chins ! 
Next  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley, — Mr.  Will  Ramble, 
With  Dame  Lismahago  (nee  Tabitha  Bramble), — 
Mr.  Random  and  Spouse, — Mrs.  Pamela  Booby 
(Whose  nose  was  acquiring  a  tinge  of  the  ruby, 
And  "people  did  say" — but  no  matter  for  that, — 
Folks  were  not  then  enlightened  by  good  Father  Mat.) — 
— Three  friends  from  "  the  Colonies"  near  them  were  seen, 
The  Great  Massachusetts  man.  General  Muff  Green, — 
Mr,  Jonathan  W.  Doubikins, — men 
"  Influential  som6" — and  their  "  smart"  Uncle  Ben  ; — 
Rev.  Abraham  Adams  (preferred  to  a  stall), — 
— Mr.  Jones  and  his  lady,  from  Allworthy  Hall ; 

— Our  friend  Tom,  by  the  way.     Had  turned  out  rather 

gay  _ 
For  a  married  man — certainly  "people  did  say" 
He  was  shrewdly  suspected  of  using  his  wife  ill. 
And  being  as  sly  as  his  half-brother  Blifil. — 
(Miss  Seagrim,  'tis  well  known,  was  now  in  high  feather, 
And  "people  did  say"  they'd  been  seen  out  together, — 


A    FAMILY  LEGEND.  481 

A.  fact,  the  "  Boy  Jones,"  who,  in  our  days,  with  malice 

A-fo  re  thought,  so  often  got  into  the  Palace, 

Would  seem  to  confirm,  as,  'tis  whispered  he  owns,  he's 

rhe  son  of  a  natural  son  of  Tom  Jones's.) 

Lady  Bellaston  (mem.  she  had  not  been  invited  !), 

sir  Peregrine  Pickle,  now  recently  knighted, — 

A-U  joyous,  all  happy,  all  looking  delighted ! 

— It  would  bore  you  to  death  should  I  pause  to  describe, 

Dr  enumerate,  half  of  the  elegant  tribe 

Who   filled    the   background,     And   among   whom   were 
found 
rhe  elite  of  the  old  county  families  round, 
such  as  Honeywood,  Oxenden,  Knatchbull,.  and  Norton, 
Matthew  Robinson,*  too,  with  his  beard  from  Monk's  Horton, 
rhe  Faggs,  and  Finch-Hattons,  Tokes,  Derings,  and  Deedses, 
And  Fairfax  (who  then  called  the  castle  of  Leeds  his)  , 

Esquires,  Knights,  and  Lords,     In  bag-wigs  and  swords ; 

And  the  troops,  and  the  groups,     Of  fine  Ladies  in  hoops ; 
riie  pompons,  the  toupees,  and  the  diamonds  and  feathers. 

The  flowered-silk   sacques      Which   they   wore    on   their 
backs, — 
— How? — sacqties  and  pompons,   with  the  Squire's  boots  and 
leathers  ? — 

Stay  !  stay ! — I  suspect.     Here's  a  trifling  neglect 
3n    your    part,    Madame    Muse,    though    you're    commonly 

accurate, 
As  to  costume,  as  brown  Quaker,  or  black  Curate, 

For  once  I  confess.     Here  you're  out  as  to  dress  ; — 
STou've  been  fairly  caught  napping,  which  gives  me  distress, 
Por  I  can't  but  acknowledge  it  is  not  the  thing, 
sir  Roger  de  Coverley's  laced  suit  to  bring 
[nto  contact  with  square-cut  coats, — such  as  George  Byng, 
And  poor  dear  Sir  Francis,  appeared  in  last  spring ; — 
so,  having  for  once  been  compelled  to  acknowledge  I 
ve  made  a  small  hole  in  our  mutual  chronology. 


*  A  worthy  and  eccentric  country  gentleman,  afterwards  the  second  Lord  Rokeby, 
)eing  cousin  ("  a  great  many  times  removed  ")  and  successor  in  the  barony  to  Richard, 
^.^chbishop  of  Armagh,  who  first  bore  that  title.    His  beard  was  truly  patriarchal.— 
Hr.  Muntz's — pooh  1 
31 


482  THE  wedding-day. 

Canter  on,  Miss,  without  further  apology, — 

Only  don't  make     Such  another  mistake, 
Or  you'll  get  in  a  scrape,  of  which  I  shall  partake ; — 
Enough ! — you  are  sorry  for  what  you  have  done, 
So  dry  your  eyes,  Miss,  blow  your  nose,  and  go  on ! 

Well — the  party  are  met,  all  radiant  and  gay, 

And  how  ev'ry  person  is  dressed — we  won't  say ; 

Suffice  it,  they  all  come  glad  homage  to  pay 

To  our  dear  "  bonnie  Maud,"  on  her  own  wedding-day, 

To  dance  at  her  bridal,  and  help  "  throw  the  stocking," 

— A  practice  that's  now  discontinued  as  shocking. 

There's  a  breakfast,  they  know —    There  always  is  so 
On  occasions  like  these,  wheresoever  you  go. 
Of  course  there  are  "  lots "  of  beef,  potted  and  hung. 
Prawns,  lobsters,  cold  fowl,  and  cold  ham,  and  cold  tongue, 
Hot  tea  and  hot  coffee,  hot  rolls  and  hot  toast. 
Cold  pigeon-pie  (rook?),  and  cold  boil'd  and  cold  roast, 
Scotch  marmalade,  jellies,  cold  creams,  and  colder  ices, — 
Blancmange,  which  young  ladies  say  so  very  nice  is, — 
Rock-melons  in  thick,  pines  in  much  thinner,  slices, — 
Char,  potted  with  clarified  butter  and  spices, 
Renewing  an  appetite  long  past  its  crisis — 
Refined  barley-sugar,  in  various  devices. 
Such  as  bridges,  and  baskets,  and  temples,  and  grottoes — 
And  nasty  French  lucifer  snappers  with  mottoes. 
— In  short,  all  those  gimcracks  together  were  met 
Which  people  of  fashion  tell  Gunter  to  get 
When  they  give  a  grand  dejeilner  ct  lafourchette 
(A  phrase   which,   though    French,   in   our   language   still 

lingers. 
Intending  a  breakfast  with  forks  and  not  fingers). 
And  see !  what  a  mountainous  bridecake  ! — a  thing 
By  itself — with  small  pieces  to  pass  through  the  ring ! 

Now  as  to  the  wines  ! — "  Ay,  the  wine !"  cries  the  Squire, 
Letting  fall  both  his  coat-tails — which  nearly  take  fire, — 


A    FAMILY  LEGEND.  483 

Rubbing  his  hands,     He  calls  out  as  he  stands, 
lo  the  serving-men  waiting  "his  Honor's"  commands, 
'  The  wine ! — to  be  sure — here,  you  Harry — Bob — Dick — 
rhe  wine,  don't  you  hear  ? — bring  us  lights — come,  be  quick ! 
A.nd  a  crowbar  to  knock  down  the  mortar  and  brick — 

Say  what  they  may,     'Fore  George,  we'll  make  way 
[nto  old  Roger  Ingoldsby's  cellar  to-day, 
A.nd  let  loose  his  captives,  imprisoned  so  long, 
His  flasks,  and  his  casks,  that  he  bricked  up  so  strong !" — 
— "  Oh  dear !   oh  dear !   Squire  Ingoldsby,  bethink  you  what 

you  do !" 
Exclaims  old  Mrs.  Botherby,* — she  is  in  siich  a  stew ! — 
"  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  what  do  I  hear  ? — full  oft  you've  heard 

me  tell 
Of  the  curse  '  Wild  Roger '  left  upon  whoe'er  should  break 
his  cell ! 


"  Full  five-and-twenty  years  are  gone  since  Roger  went  away, 
As  I  bethink  me,  too,  it  was  upon  this  very  day ! 
And  I  was  then  a  comely  dame,  and  you,  a  springald  gay. 
Were  up  and  down  to  London  town,  at  opera,  ball,  and  play ; 
Your  locks  were  nut-brown,  then,  Squire — you  grow  a  little 


gray 


"'Wild    Roger,'    so    we   called    him   then,  your  grandsire's 
youngest  son, 
He  was  in  truth     A  wayward  youth. 
We  feared  him  every  one. 
In  ev'ry  thing  he  had  his  will,  he  would  be  staid  by  none, 
And  when  he  did  a  naughty  thing,  he  laughed  and  called  it 

fun! 
— One  day  his  father  chid  him  sore — I  know  not  what  he'd 
done. 
But  he  scorned  reproof;     And  from  this  roof 
Away  that  night  he  run. 


*  Great-grandmamma,  by  the  father's  side,  to  the  excellent  lady  of  the  same  name 
■who  yet  '•  keeps  the  keys  "  at  Tappington. 


484  THE  WEDDING-DAY. 

"Seven    years    were    gone    and    over — 'Wild    Roger'    came" 

again, 
He  spoke  of  forays  and  of  frays  upon  the  Spanish  Main ; 
And  he  had  store  of  gold  galore,  and  silks  and  satins  fine, 
And  flasks,  and  casks  of  Malvoisie,  and  precious  Gascon  wine ! 
Rich   booties   he   had   brought,   he  said,   across   the  western 

wave, 
And  came,  in  penitence  and  shame,  now  of  his  sire  to  crave 
Forgiveness  and  a  welcome  home — his  sire  was  in  his  grave ! 


"  Your  father  was  a  kindly  man — he  played  a  brother's  part,    ' 
He  pressed  his  brother  to  his  breast — he  had  a  kindly  heart ; 
Fain  would  he  have  him  tarry  here,  their  common  hearth  to 

share, 
But  Roger  was  the  same  man  still, — he  scorned  his  brother's 


pray  r 


He  called  his  crew, — away  he  flew,  and  on  those  foreign  shores 
Got   killed  in  some  outlandish  place — they  call  it  the  Eye- 
sores ;  * 
But  ere  he  went.     And  quitted  Kent, 
— I  well  recall  the  day, — 
His  flasks  and  casks  of  Gascon  wine  he  safely  '  stowed  away  ;* 
Within  the  cellar's  deepest  nook  he  safely  stowed  them  all, 
And  Mason  Jones  brought  bricks  and  stones,  and  they  built  up 
the  wall. 


"  Oh !  then  it  was  a  fearful  thing  to  hear  *  Wild  Roger's '  ban ! 
Good  gracious  me !  I  never  heard  the  like  from  mortal  man. 
'Here's  that,'  quoth  he,  'shall  serve  me  well,  when  I  return 

at  last, 
A  battered   hulk,  to  quafi"  and   laugh  at  toils  and  dangers 

past; 
Accurst  be  he,  whoe'er  he  be,  lays  hand  on  gear  of  mine. 
Till    I    come  back   again   from  sea,   to   broach   my   Gascon 

wine !' 


*  Azores  ?    Mrs.  Botherby's  orthography,  like  that  of  her  distinguished  contempo- 
rary, Baron  Duberly,  was  "  a  little  loose. 


A   FAMILY  LEGEND.  485 

'And   more  he  said,  which  filled  with  dread  all  those  who 

listened  there ; 
^n  sooth  my  very  blood  ran  cold,  it  lifted  up  my  hair 
iVith  very  fear,  to  stand  and  hear  'Wild  Roger'  curse   and 

swear ! ! 
3e   saw  my  fright,  as  well  he  might,  but  still  he  made  his 

game, 
ile  called  me  '  Mother  bounce-about ;'  my  Gracious !  what  a 

name! 
^ay,  more,  'an   old' — some  'boat-woman,' — I   may   not  say 

for  shame ! — 
rhen,  gentle  Master,  pause  awhile,  give  heed  to  what  I  tell, 
!^or  break,  on  such  a  day  as  this,  '  Wild  Roger's '  secret  cell !" 


"  Pooh !   pooh !"   quoth  the  Squire,     As  he  moved  from 
the  fire, 
^nd  bade  the  old  Housekeeper  quickly  retire ; 

"  Pooh ! — never  tell  me !     Nonsense !  fiddle-de-dee ! 
►Vhat  ? — wait  Uncle  Roger's  return  back  from  sea  ? 

Why,  he  may,  as  you  say,      Have  been  somewhat  too 
gay, 
Lnd,  no  doubt,  was  a  broth  of  a  boy  in  his  way ; 
5ut  what's  that  to  us,  now,  at  this  time  of  day  ? 

AVhat  if  some  quarrel     With  Dering  or  Darrcll — • 
—I  hardly  know  which,  but  I  think  it  was  Dering, — 
sent  him  back  in  a  hufi"  to  his  old  privateering  ? 
)r  what  his  unfriends  chose  to  call  Buccaneering, 
't's  twenty  years  since,  as  we  very  well  know, 
He  was  knocked  on  the  head  in  a  skirmish,  and  so 
iVhy  rake  up  '  auld-warld '  tales  of  deeds  long  ago  ? — 
—Foul  befall  him  who  would  touch  the  deposit 
)f  living  man,  whether  in  cellar  or  closet ! 

But  since,  as  I've  said.     Knocked  on  the  head, 
Jncle  Roger  has  now  been  some  twenty  years  dead : 

As  for  his  wine,     I'm  his  heir,  and  it's  mine ! 
Lnd  I'd  long  ago  worked  it  well,  but  that  I  tarried 

For  this  very  day —     And  I'm  sure  you'll  all  say 
'.  was  right — when  my  own  darling  Maud  should  get  married ! 


486  THE   WEDDING-DAY. 

So  lights  and  a  crowbar ! — the  only  thing  lies 

On  my  conscience,  at  all,  with  respect  to  this  prize, 

Is  some  little  compunction  anent  the  Excise. 

Come — you.  Master  Jack,     Be  the  first,  and  bring  back 
Whate'er  comes  to  hand — Claret,  Burgundy,  Sack, 
Head  the  party,  and  mind  that  you're  back  in  a  crack !" 

Away  go  the  clan.     With  cup  and  with  can, 
Little  Jack  Ingoldsby  leading  the  van ; 
Little  reck  they  of  the  Buccaneer's  ban : 
Hope  whispers,  "  Perchance  we'll  fall  in  with  strong  beer  too 

here!" 
Blest  thought !  which  sets  them  all  grjnning  from  ear  to  ear ! 

Through  cellar  one,  through  cellar  two, 
Through  cellar  three  they  passed  \ 

And  their  way  they  took     To  the  farthest  nook 
Of  cellar  four — the  last ! 
Blithe  and  gay,  they  batter  away, 
On  this  wedding-day  of  Maud's, 
With  all  their  might,  to  bring  to  light 

"  Wild  Roger's  "  "  Custom-house  frauds !"  i 

And  though  stone  and  brick     Be  never  so  thick,  | 

When  stoutly  assailed,  they  are  no  bar  • 

To  the  powerful  charm     Of  a  Yeoman's  arm 
When  wielding  a  decentish  crowbar ! 
Down  comes  brick,  and  down  comes  stone, 

One  by  one —     The  job's  half  done ! — 
"Where  is  he? — now  come — where's "Master  John?" —  | 

— There's  a  breach  in  the  wall  three  feet  by  two. 
And  little  Jack  Ingoldsby  soon  pops  through ! 

Hark ! — what  sound's  that  ? — a  sob  ? — a  sigh  ? — 
The  choking  gasp  of  a  stifled  cry  ? — 

— "  What  can  it  be  ? —    Let's  see ! — let's  see ! 
It  canH  be  little  Jack  Ingoldsby  ? 

The    candle — quick!"      Through    stone    and    through 
brick. 
They  poke  in  the  light  on  a  long  split  stick ; 


I 


A   FAMILY  LEGEND.  487 

But  ere  he  who  holds  it  can  wave  it  about, 

He  gasps,  and  he  sneezes — the  light  goes  out  ! 

Yet  were  there  those,  in  after  days, 

Who  said  that  pale  light's  flickering  blaze,  , 

For  a  moment,  gleamed  on  a  dark  Form  there. 

Seemed  as  bodied  of  foul  black  air ! — 

— Jn  Mariner's  dress, — with  cutlass  braced, 

By  buckle  and  broad  black  belt,  to  its  waist, — 

— On  a  cocked  hat,  laced     With  gold,  and  placed 

With  a  degage,  devil-may-care  kind  of  taste, 

O'er  a  balafre  brow  by  a  scar  defaced  ! — 

That  form,  they  said,  so  foul  and  so  black, 

Grinned  as  it  pointed  at  poor  little  Jack. — 

— I  know  not,  I,  how  the  truth  may  be, 

But  the  pent-up  vapor,  at  length  set  free. 

Set  them  all  sneezing.     And  coughing,  and  wheezing, 
As,  working  its  way     To  the  regions  of  day. 

It,  at  last,  let  a  purer  and  healthier  breeze  in ! 

Of  their  senses  bereft,     To  the  right  and  the  left. 
Those  varlets  so  lately  courageous  and  stout. 
There  they  lay  kicking  and  sprawling  about, 
Like  Billingsgate  fresh  fish,  unconscious  of  ice. 
Or  those  which,  the  newspapers  give  iis  advice, 
Mr.  Taylor,  of  Lombard  Street,  sells  at  half  price ! 
— Nearer  the  door,  some  half  dozen  or  more 

Scramble  away     To  the  rez  de  chaussee 
(As  our  Frenchified  friend  always  calls  his  ground  floor), 
And  they  call,  and  they  bawl,  and  they  bellow  and  roar 
For  lights,  vinegar,  brandy,  and  fifty  things  more. 
At  length,  after  no  little  clamor  and  din. 
The  foul  air  let  out  and  the  fi-esh  air  let  in, 

They  drag  one  and  all     Up  into  the  hall. 
Where  a  medical  Quaker,  the  great  Dr.  Lettsom, 
Who's  one  of  the  party,  "  bleeds,  physics,  and  sweats  'em." 

All  ?— all— save  One—     — "  But  He !— my  Son  ?— 
Merciful  Heaven ! — where — where  is  John  ?" 


488  THE  WEDDING-DAY. 

Within  that  cell,  so  dark  and  deep, 
Lies  One,  as  in  a  tranquil  sleep, 
A  sight  to  make  the  sternest  weep ! — 
— That  little  heart  is  pulseless  now. 
And  cold  that  fair  and  open  brow, 
•    And  closed  that  eye  that  beamed  with  joy 
And  hope — "  Oh,  God !  my  Boy !  my  Boy  !'* 

Enough  ! — I  may  not, — dare  not, — show 
The  wretched  Father's  franlic  Woe, 
The  Mother's  tearless,  speechless — No ! 
I  may  not  such  a  theme  essay — 
Too  bitter  thoughts  crowd  in  and  stay 
My  pen — sad  memory  will  have  way ! 
Enough ! — at  once  I  close  the  lay 
Of  Fair  Maud's  fatal  Wedding-day ! 

It  has  a  mournful  s6und, 

That  single,  solemri  Bell ! 
As  to  the  hills  and  woods  around 

It  flings  its  deep-toned  knell ! 
That  measured  toll ! — alone — apart, 
It  strikes  upon  the  human  heart ! 
— ^It  has  a  mournful  sound ! — 


MORAL. 

Come,  come,  Mrs.  Muse,  we  can't  part  in  this  way, 
Or  you'll  leave  me  as  dull  as  ditch-water  all  day. 
Try  and  squeeze  out  a  Moral  or  two  from  your  lay ! 
And  let  us  part  cheerful,  at  least,  if  not  gay. 

First  and  foremost  then,  Gentlefolks,  learn  from  my  song 
Not  to  lock  up  your  wine,  or  malt-liquor,  too  long ! 

Though  port  should  have  age,     Yet  I  don't  think  it  sage 
To  entomb  it,  as  some  of  your  connoisseurs  do. 
Till  it's  losing  in  flavor,  and  body,  and  hue ; 
— I  question  if  keeping  it  does  it  much  good 
After  ten  years  in  bottle  and  three  in  the  wood. 


A   FAMILY  LEGEND.  489 

If  any  young  man,  though  a  snubbed  younger  brother, 
When  told  of  his  faults  by  his  father  and  mother, 
Runs  restive,  and  goes  off  to  sea  in  a  huff, 
Depend  on't,  my  friends,  that  young  man  is  a  Muff! 

Next — ill-gotten  gains     Are  not  worth  the  pains ! — 
They  prosj^er  with  no  one ! — so  whether  cheroots, 
Or  Havana  cigars, — or  French  gloves,  or  French  boots, — 
Whatever  you  want,  pay  the  duty !  nor  when  you 
Buy  any  such  articles,  cheat  the  revenue ! 

And  "  now  to  conclude," —     For  it's  high  time  I  should, — 
When  you  do  rejoice,  mind, — whatsoever  you  do, — 
That  the  hearts  of  the  lowly  rejoice  with  you  too ! — 

Don't  grudge   them   their  jigs.     And   their   frolics   and 
"  rigs," 
And  don't  interfere  with  their  soapy-tailed  pigs ; 
Nor,  "  because  thou  art  virtuous,"  rail,  and  exhale 
An  anathema,  breathing  of  vengeance  and  wail, 
Upon  every  complexion  less  pale  than  sea-kale ! 
Nor  dismiss  the  poor  man  to  his  pump  and  his  pail, 
With  "  Drink   there ! — we'll  have   henceforth  no  more  cakes 
and  ale!!" 


Mox  Regina  filium  peperit  a  multis  optatem  et  a  Deo  sanc- 
tificatum.  Cumque  Infans  natus  fuisset,  statim  clara  voce, 
omnibus  audientibus,  clamavit  " Christianus  sum!  Christianus 
sum!  Christianus  sum!"  Ad  banc  vocem  Presbyteri  duo, 
Widerinus  et  Edwoldus,  dicentes  Deo  Gratias,  et  omnes  qui 
aderant  mirantes,  coeperuut  cantare  Te  Dexim  laudamus.  Quo 
facto  rogabat  Infans  cathecumenum  a  Widerino  sacerdote  fieri, 
et  ab  Edwoldo  teneri  ad  prsesignaculum  fidei  et  Romwoldum 
vocari. — Nov.  Legend.  Angl.  in  Vita  Scti.  Romualdi. 


490  THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

A  LAY  OF  ST.  EOMWOLD. 


I^ 


'N  Kent,  we  are  told, 
There  was  seated  of  old 
A  handsome  young  gentleman,  courteous  and  bold ; 
He'd  an  oaken  strong-box,  well  replenished  with  gold, 
With  broad  lands,  pasture,  arable,  woodland,  and  wold, 
Not  an  acre  of  which  had  been  mortgaged  or  sold ; 
He'd  a  Pleasaunce  and  Hall  passing  fair  to  behold. 
He  had  beeves  in  the  byre,  he  had  flocks  in  the  fold, 
And  was  somewhere  about  five-and-twenty  years  old. 

His  figure  and  face.     For  beauty  and  grace. 
To  the  best  in  the  country  had  scorned  to  give  place. 

Small  marvel,  then.     If,  of  women  and  men 
Whom  he  chanced  to  foregather  with,  nine  out  of  ten 
Expressed  themselves  charmed  with  Sir  Alured  Denne. 

From  my  earliest  youth     I've  been  taught,  as  a  truth, 
A  maxim  which  most  will  consider  as  sooth. 
Though  a  few,  peradventure,  may  think  it  uncouth : 
There  are  three  social  duties  the  whole  of  the  swarm 
In  this  great  human  hive  of  ours  ought  to  perform, 
And  that  too  as  soon  as  conveniently  may  be ; 

The  first  of  the  three     Is,  the  planting  a  Tree ; 
The  next,  the  producing  a  Book — then,  a  Baby ! 
(For  my  part,  dear  Reader,  without  any  jesting,  I 
So  far,  at  least,  have  accomplished  my  destiny.) 

From  the  foremost,  i.  e.,     The  "  planting  the  Tree," 
The  Knight  may,  perchance,  have  conceived  himself  free, 
Inasmuch  as  that,  which  way  soever  he  looks. 
Over  park,  mead,  or  upland,  by  streamlets  and  brooks, 
His  fine  beeches  and  elms  shelter  thousands  of  rooks ; 

In  Twelve  Eighty-two     There  would  also  accrue 
Much  latitude  as  to  the  article  Books ; 
But  if  those  we've  disposed  of,  and  need  not  recall, 
Might,  as  duties,  appear  in  comparison  small. 


A   LAY   OF  ST.    ROMWOLD.  491 

One  remained  there  was  no  getting  over  at  all, — 
The  providing  a  male  Heir  for  Bonnington  Hall ; 
AVhich,  doubtless,  induced  the  good  Knight  to  decide, 
As  a  matter  of  conscience,  on  taking  a  Bride. 

It's  a  very  fine  thing,  and  delightful,  to  see 
Inclination  and  duty  unite  and  agree, 

Because  it's  a  case    That  so  rarely  takes  place ; 
In  the  instance  before  us,  then,  Alured  Denne 
Might  well  be  esteemed  the  most  lucky  of  men, 

Inasmuch  as  hard  by —     Indeed,  so  very  nigh 
That  her  chimneys  from  his  you  might  almost  descry — 
Dwelt  a  Lady  at  whom  he'd  long  cast  a  sheep's  eye,. — 
One  whose  character  scandal  itself  could  defy, 
While  her  charms  and  accomplishments  ranked  very  high, 

And  who  would  not  deny     A  propitious  reply, 
But  reflect  back  his  blushes,  and  give  sigh  for  sigh 
(A  line  that's  not  mine,  but  Tom  Moore's,  by  the  bye). 

There  was  many  a  gay  and  trim  bachelor  near 
Who  felt  sick  at  heart  when  the  news  met  his  ear 
That  fair  Edith  Ingoldsby,  she  whom  they  all 
The  "  Eosebud  of  Tappington"  ceased  not  to  call. 

Was  going  to  say     "  Honor,  love,  and  obey," 
To  Sir  Alured  Denne,  Knight,  of  Bonnington  Hall, — 
That  all  other  suitors  were  left  in  the  lurch, 
And  the  parties  had  even  been  "  out-asked  "  in  church ; 

— For  every  one  says.     In  those  primitive  days, — 
And  I  must  own  I  think  it  redounds  to  their  praise, — 
None  dreamed  of  transferring  a  daughter  or  niece 
As  a  bride,  by  an  "  unstamped  agreement,"  or  lease, 
'Fore  a  Registrar's  Clerk,  or  a  Justice  of  Peace ; 

While  young  ladies  had  fain     Single  women  remain. 
And  unwedded  maids  to  the  last  "  crack  of  doom"  stick, 
Ere  marry  by  taking  a  jump  o'er  a  broomstick. 

So  our  Bride  and  Bridegroom  agreed  to  appear 
At  Holy  St.  Romwold's,  a  Priory  near. 
Which  a  long  while  before,  I  can't  say  in  what  year. 
Their  forebears  had  joined  with  the  neighbors  to  rear, 


492  THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

And  endowed,  some  Avitli  bucks,  some  with  beef,  some  Avitli 

beer, 
To  comfort  the  friars,  and  make  them  good  cheer ; 

Adorning  the  building     With  carving  and  gilding, 
And  stone  altars  fixed  to  the  chantries  and  filled  in 
(Papistic  in  substance  and  form,  and  on  this  count 
With  Judge  Herbert  Jenner  Fust  justly  at  discount : 
See  Cambridge  Societas  Camdeniensis 
V.  Faulkner,  tert.  jjrim.  Januarii  Ifensis, 
With  "  Judgment  reversed,  costs  of  suit,  and  expenses  ")  ; 
All  raised  to  St.  Romwold,  with  some  reason  styled. 
By  Duke  Humphreys  confessor,*  "  a  Wonderful  Child," 
For  ne'er  yet  was  Saint,  except  him,  upon  earth 
Who  made  his  "profession  of  faith"  at  his  birth, 
And  when  scarce  a  foot  high,  or  six  inches  in  girth, 
Converted  his  "  Ma,"  and  contrived  to  amend  a 
Sad  hole  in  the  creed  of  his  Grandsire,  King  Penda. 

Of  course  to  the  shrine    Of  so  young  a  divine 
Flowed  much  holy  water,  and  some  little  wine ; 
And  when  any  young  folks  did  to  marriage  incline, 
The  good  friars  were  much  in  request,  and  not  one 
Was  more  "  sought  unto "  than  the  Sub-prior,  Mess  John. 

To  him,  there  and  then.     Sir  Alured  Denne 
Wrote  a  three-cornered  note  with  a  small  crow-quill  pen 
To  say  what  he  wanted,  and  fix  "  the  time  when ;" 
And,  as  it's  well  known  that  your  people  of  quality 
Pique  themselves  justly  on  strict  punctuality, 
Just  as  the  clock  struck  the  hour  he'd  named  in  it. 
The  whole  bridal  party  rode  up,  to  thje  mmute. 

Now  whether  it  was  that  some  rapturous  dream, 
Comprehending  "  fat  pullets  and  clouted  cream," 
Had  borne  the  good  man,  in  its  vision  of  bliss, 
Far  off  to  some  happier  region  than  this ; 


*  Honest  John  Capgrave,  the  veracious  biographer  of  "  English  Saints,"  author,  or 
rather  compiler,  of  the  " Nova  Legenda  Anglise,"  was  chaplain  to  Humphrey,  "the 
Good  Duke"  of  Gloucester.  A  beautiful  edition  of  his  work  was  printed  by  Wynkyn 
de  Worde. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   ROMWOLD.  493 

Or  whether  his  beads,  'gainst  the  fingers  rebelling, 
Took  longer  tlian  usual  that  morning  in  telling ; 
Or  whether,  his  conscience  with  knotted  cord  purging, 
Mess  John  was  indulging  himself  with  a  scourging, 
In  penance  for  killing  some  score  of  the  fleas 
Which,  infesting  his  hair  shirt,  deprived  him  of  ease; 
Or  whether  a  barrel  of  Faversham  oysters, 
Brought  in,  on  the  evening  before,  to  the  cloisters, 

Produced  indigestion, —     Continues  a  question  ; 
The  particular  cause  is  not  worth  a  debate : 
For  my  purpose  it's  clearly  sufficient  to  state 
That,  whatever  the  reason,  his  Rev'rence  was  late. 

And  Sir  Alured  Denne,     Not  the  meekest  of  men, 
Began  banning  away  at  a  deuce  of  a  rate. 

Now  here,  though  I  do  it  with  infinite  pain, 
Gentle  reader,  I  find  I  must  pause  to  explain 

That  there  was — what,  I  own,     I  grieve  to  make  known — 
On  the  worthy  Knight's  character  one  single  stain. 
But  for  which  all  his  friends  had  borne  witness,  I'm  sure. 
He  had  been  sans  reproehe,  as  he  still  was  sans  peur. 
The  fact  is  that  many  distinguished  commanders 
"  Swore  terribly  (teste  T.  Shandy)  in  Flanders." 
Now  into  these  parts  our  Knight  chancing  to  go, — countries 
Named  from  this  sad,  vulgar  custom  "  The  Low  Countries,"— 
Though  on  common  occasions  as  courteous  as  daring, 
Had  picked  up  this  shocking  bad  habit  of  swearing. 
And  if  anything  vexed  him,  or  matters  went  wrong, 
Was  given  to  what  low  folks  call  "  coming  it  strong." 
Good,  bad,  or  indifferent  then,  young  or  old, 
He'd  consign  them,  when  once  in  a  humor  to  scold. 
To  a  place  where  they  certainly  would  not  take  cold. 
Now  if  there  are  those, — and  I've  some  in  my  eye, — 
Who'd  esteem  this  a  crime  of  no  very  deep  dye. 
Let  them  read  on — they'll  find  their  mistake  by  and  by. 

Near  or  far.     Few  people  there  are 
But  have  heard,  read,  or  sung  about  Young  Lochinvar, 


494  THE   BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

How  in  Netherby  Chapel,  "  at  morning  tide," 

The  Priest  and  the  Bridegroom  stood  waiting  the  Bride : 

How  they  waited,  "  but  ne'er    A  Bride  was  there." 
Still  I  don't  find,  on  reading  the  ballad  with  care. 
The  bereaved  Mr,  Graham  proceeded  to  swear — 
And  yet  to  experience  so  serious  a  blight  in 
One's  dearest  affections,  is  somewhat  exciting. 

'Tis  manifest  then     That  Sir  Alured  Denne 
Had  far  less  excuse  for  such  bad  language,  when 
It  was  only  the  Priest,  not  the  Bride,  who  was  missing — 
He  had  filled  up  the  interval  better  with  kissing. 

And  'twas  really  surprising.     And  not  very  wise  in 
A  Knight,  to  go  on  so  anathematizing. 
When  the  head  and  the  front  of  the  Clergyman's  crime 
Was  but  being  a  little  behind  as  to  time : — 

Be  that  as  it  may.     He  swore  so  that  day 
At  the  reverend  gentleman's  ill-judged  delay, 
That  not  a  bystander  who  heard  what  he  said, 
But  listened  to  all  his  expressions  with  dread. 
And  felt  all  his  hair  stand  on  end  on  his  head ; 

Nay,  many  folks  there     Did  not  stick  to  declare 
The  phenomenon  was  not  confined  to  the  hair. 
For  the  little  stone  Saint  who  sat  perched  o'er  the  door, 
St.  Romwold  himself,  as  I  told  you  before, 

What  will  scarce  be  believed.     Was  plainly  perceived 
To  shrug  up  his  shoulders,  as  very  much  grieved. 

And  look  down  with  a  frown     So  remarkably  brown, 
That  all  saw  he'd  now  quite  a  different  face  on 
From  that  he  received  at  the  hands  of  the  mason ; 
Nay,  many  averred  he  half  rose  in  his  niche. 
When  Sir  Alured,  always  in  metaphor  rich. 

Called  his  priest  an  "  old  son  of "  some  animal — which, 

Is  not  worth  the  inquiry — a  hint's  quite  enough  on 
The  subject — for  more  I  refer  you  to  Buffon. 

It's  supposed  that  the  Knight     Himself  saw  the  sight. 
And  it's  likely  he  did,  as  he  easily  might ; 
For  'tis  certain  he  paused  in  his  wordy  attack. 
And,  in  nautical  language,  seemed  "  taken  aback." 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   ROMWOLD.  495 

In  so  much  that  when  now     The  "prime  cause  of  the 
row," 
Father  John,  in  the  chapel  at  last  made  his  bow, 
The  Bridegroom  elect  was  so  mild  and  subdued, 
None  could  ever  suppose  he'd  been  noisy  and  rude, 
Or  made  use  of  the  language  to  which  I  allude. 
Fair  Edith  herself,  while  the  knot  was  a-tying, 
Her  bridesmaids  around  her,  some  sobbing,  some  sighing, 
Some  smiling,  some  blushing,  half  laughing,  half  crying, 
Scarce  made  her  responses  in  tones  more  complying 
Than  he  who'd  been  raging  and  storming  so  recently, 
All  softness  now,  and  behaving  quite  decently. 
Many  folks  thought  too  the  cold  stony  frown 
Of  the  Saint  up  aloft  from  his  niche  looking  down, 
Brought  the  sexton  and  clerk  each  an  extra  half-crown, 
When,  the  rite  being  over,  the  fees  were  all  paid. 
And,  the  party  remounting,  the  whole  cavalcade 
Prepared  to  ride  home  with  no  little  parade. 

In  a  climate  so  very  unsettled  as  ours 

It's  as  well  to  be  cautious  and  guard  against  showers. 

For  though,  about  One,     You've  a  fine  brilliant  sun, 
When  your  walk  or  your  ride  is  but  barely  begun. 
Yet  long  ere  the  hour-hand  approaches  the  Two, 
There  is  not  in  the  whole  sky  one  atom  of  blue. 
But  it  "  rains  cats  and  dogs,"  and  you're  fairly  wet  through 
Ere  you  know  where  to  turn,  what  to  say,  or  to  do ; 
For  which  reason  I've  bought,  to  protect  myself  well,  a 
Good  stout  Taglioni  and  gingham  umbrella. 
But  in  Edward  the  First's  days  I  very  much  fear 

Had  a  gay  cavalier     Thought  fit  to  appear 
In  any  such  "  toggery" — then  'twas  termed  "gear" — 
He'd  have  met  with  a  highly  significant  sneer. 
Or  a  broad  grin  extending  from  ear  unto  ear 
On  the  features  of  every  soul  he  came  near  ; 
There  was  no  taking  refuge  too  then,  as  with  us. 
On  a  slip-sloppy  day,  in  a  cab  or  a  'bus; 

As  they  rode  through  the  woods     In  their  wimples  and 
hoods, 


496  THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

Their  only  resource  against  sleet,  hail,  or  rain, 

Was,  as  Spenser  describes  it,  to  "  pryck  o'er  the  plaine ;" 

That  is,  to  clap  spurs  on,  and  ride  helter-skelter 

In  search  of  some  building  or  other  for  shelter. 

Now  it  seems  that  the  sky,     Which  had  been  of  a  dye 
As  bright  and  as  blue  as  your  lady-love's  eye, 
The  season,  in  fact,  being  genial  and  dry, 

Began  to  assume     An  appearance  of  gloom 
From  the  moment  the  Knight  began  fidget  and  fume, 
Which  deepened  and  deepened  till  all  the  horizon 
Grew  blacker  than  aught  they  had  ever  set  eyes  on, 
And  soon,  from  the  far  west  the  elements  rumbling. 
Increased  and  kept  pace  with  Sir  Alured's  grumbling. 

Bright  flashes  between.     Blue,  red,  and  green, 
All  livid  and  lurid  began  to  be  seen ; 
At  length  down  it  came — a  whole  deluge  of  rain, 
A  perfect  Niagara,  drenching  the  plain  ; 

And  up  came  the  reek.     And  down  came  the  shriek 
Of  the  winds  like  a  steam-whistle  starting  a  train ; 
And  the  tempest  began  so  to  roar  and  to  pour. 
That  the  Dennes  and  the  Ingoldsbys,  starting  at  score. 
As  they  did  from  the  porch  of  St,  Romwold's  church  door, 
Had  scarce  gained  a  mile,  or  a  mere  trifle  more. 

Ere  the  whole  of  the  crew     Were  completely  wet  through. 
They  dashed  o'er  the  downs,  and  they  dashed  through  the 

vales, 
They  dashed  up  the  hills,  and  they  dashed  down  the  dales, 
As  if  elderly  Nick  was  himself  at  their  tails ; 

The  Bridegroom  in  vain     Attempts  to  restrain 
The  Bride's  frightened  palfrey  by  seizing  the  rein, 

When   a   flash   and   a   crash     Which   produced   such   a 
splash 
That  a  Yankee  had  called  it  "  an  Almighty  Smash," 

Came  down  so  complete     At  his  own  courser's  feet. 
That  the  rider,  though  famous  for  keeping  his  seat. 
From  its  kickings  and  plungings,  now  under,  now  upper. 
Slipped  out  of  his  demi-pique  over  the  crupper. 
And  fell  from  the  back  of  his  terrified  cob 


A    LAY  OF  ST.   ROMWOLD.  497 

On  what  bards  less  refined  than  myself  term  his  "Nob" 
(To  obtain  a  genteel  rhyme's  sometimes  a  tough  job). — 

Just  so — for  the  nonce  to  enliven  my  song 
With  a  classical  simile  cannot  be  wrong — 
Just  so,  in  such  roads  and  iu  similar  weather, 
Tydides  and  Nestor  were  riding  together, 
When,  so  says  old  Homer,  the  King  of  the  Sky, 
The  great  "  Cloud-compeller,"  his  lightnings  let  fly, 
And  their  horses  both  made  such  a  desperate  shy 

At  this  freak  of  old  Zeus,     That  at  once  they  broke 
loose. 
Reins,  traces,  bits,  breechings,  were  all  of  no  use ; 
If  the  Pyliau  Sage,  without  any  delay, 

Had  not  whipped  them  sharp  round  and  away  from  the  fray, 
They'd  have  certainly  upset  his  cabriolet, 
And  there'd  been  the — a  name  I  won't  mention — to  pay. 

Well,  the  Knight  in  a  moment  recovered  his  seat — 

Mr.  Widdicombe's  mode  of  performing  that  feat 

At  Astley's  could  not  be  more  neat  or  complete, 

— It's  recorded,  indeed,  by  an  eminent  pen 

Of  our  own  days,  that  this  our  great  Widdicombe,  then 

In  the  heyday  of  life,  had  aflbrded  some  ten 

Or  twelve  lessons  in  riding  to  Alured  Denne, — 

It  is  certain  the  Knight     Was  so  agile  and  light 
That  an  instant  sufficed  him  to  set  matters  right, 
Yet  the  Bride  was  by  this  time  almost  out  of  sight ; 
For  her  palfrey,  a  rare  bit  of  blood,  who  could  trace 
Her  descent  from  the  "  pure  old  Caucasian  race," 

Sleek,  slim,  and  bony,  as     Mr.  Sidonia's 

Fine  "Arab  Steed"     Of  the  very  same  breed, 
Which  that  elegant  gentleman  rode  so  genteelly 
— See  "Coijingsby,"  written  by  "B.  Disraeli" — 

That  palfrey,  I  say.     From  this  trifling  delay 
Had  made  what  at  sea's  called  a  "  a  great  deal  of  way." 
"  More  fleet  than  the  roebuck,"  and  free  as  the  wind, 
She  had  left  the  good  company  rather  behind  ; 
32 


498  THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

They  whipped  and  they  spurred,  and  tliey  after  her  pressed, — 

Still  Sir  Alured's  steed  was  "  by  long  chalks"  the  best 

Of  the  party,  and  very  soon  distanced  the  rest ; 

But  long  ere  e'en  he  had  the  fugitive  ueared. 

She  dashed  into  the  wood  and  at  once  disappeared. 

It's  a  "  fashious  "  affair  when  you're  out  on  a  ride, — 

Ev'n  supposing  you're  not  in  pursuit  of  a  bride  ; 

If  you  are,  it's  more  fashious,  which  can't  be  denied, — 

And  you  come  to  a  place  where  three  cross-roads  divide. 

Without  any  way-post  stuck  up  by  the  side 

Of  the  road  to  direct  you  and  act  as  a  guide. 

With  a  road  leading  here,  and  a  road  leading  there, 

And  a  road  leading  no  one  exactly  knows  where. 

When  Sir  Alured  came     In  pursuit  of  the  dame 
To  a  fork  of  this  kind — a  three-pronged  one — small  blame 
To  his  scholarship  if  in  selecting  his  way 
His  respect  for  the  Classics  now  led  him  astray ; 
But  the  rule,  in  a  work  I  won't  stop  to  describe,  is 
In  medio  semper  tutissimus  ibis; 
So  the  Knight,  being  forced  of  the  three  paths  to  enter 

one. 
Dashed,  with  these  words  on  his  lips,  down  the  centre  one. 


Up  and  down  hill,     Up  and  down  hill, 
Through  brake  and  o'er  briar,  he  gallops  on  still, 
Aye  banning,  blaspheming,  and  cursing  his  fill 
At  his  courser  because  he  had  given  him  a  "  spill." 

Yet  he  did  not  gain  ground     On  the  palfrey  ;  the  sound, 
On  the  contrary,  made  by  the  hoofs  of  the  beast 
Grew  fainter  and  fainter, — and  fainter, — and — ceased ! 
Sir  Alured  burst  through  the  dingle  at  last. 
To  a  sort  of  a  clearing,  and  there — he  stuck  fast ; 
For  his  steed,  though  a  freer  one  ne'er  had  a  shoe  on. 
Stood  fixed  as  the  Governor's  nag  in  "  Don  Juan," 
Or  much  like  the  statue  that  stands,  cast  in  copper,  a 
Few  yards  southeast  of  the  door  of  the  Opera, 
Save  that  Alured's  horse  had  not  got  such  a  big  tail, 
While  Alured  wanted  the  cocked  hat  and  pigtail. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  ROM  WOLD.  499 

Before  him  is  seen 

A  diminutive  Green 
Scooped  out  from  the  covert — a  thick  leafy  screen 
Of  wild  foliage ;  trunks  with  broad  branches  between 
Encircle  it  wholly,  all  radiant  and  sheen, 
For  the  weather  at  once  appeared  clear  and  serene, 
And  the  sky  up  above  was  a  bright  mazarine, 
Just  as  though  no  such  thing  as  a  tempest  had  been ; 
In  short,  it  was  one  of  those  sweet  little  places 
In  Egypt  and  Araby  known  as  "  oases." 

There,  under  the  shade 

That  was  made  by  the  glade, 
The  astonished  Sir  Alured  sat  and  surveyed 
A  little  low  building  of  Bethersden  stone, 
With  ivy  and  parasite  creepers  o'ergrown, 

A  Sacellum  or  cell.     In  which  Chronicles  tell 
Saints  and  anchorets  erst  were  accustomed  to  dwell ; 
A  little  round  arch,  on  which,  deeply  indented. 
The  zigzaggy  pattern  by  Saxons  invented 
Was  cleverly  chiselled  and  well  represented, 

Surmounted  a  door     Some  five  feet  by  four, — 
It  might  have  been  less,  or  it  might  have  been  more ; 
In  the  primitive  ages  they  made  these  things  lower 
Than  we  do,  in  buildings  that  had  but  one  floor. 

And  these  Chronicles  say     When  an  anchoret  gray 
Wished  to  shut  himself  up  and  keep  out  of  the  way, 
He  was  commonly  wont  in  such  low  cells  to  stay, 
And  pray  night  and  day  on  the  rez  de  chaussee. 


There,  under  the  arch  I've  endeavored  to  paint, 

With  no  little  surprise,     And  scarce  trusting  his  eyes, 
The  Knight  now  saw  standing  that  little  Boy  Saint ! — 

The  one  whom  before     He'd  seen  over  the  door 
Of  the  Priory  shaking  his  head  as  he  swore — 
With  mitre,  and  crozier,  and  rochet,  and  stole  on, 
The  very  selfsame, — or  at  least  his  Eidolon ! 
With  a  voice  all  unlike  to  the  infantine  squeak 
You'd  expect,  that  small  Saint  now  addressed  him  to  speak ; 


500  THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

In  a  bold  manly  tone  he     Began,  while  his  stony- 
Cold  lips  breathed  an  odor  quite  Eau  de  Cologne-j ; 
In  fact,  from  his  christening,  according  to  rumor,  he 
Beat  Mr.  Brummell  to  sticks  in  perfumery.* 


"  Sir  Alured  Denne !"      Said  the  Saint,  "  be  atten- 
tive !     Your  ancestors,  all  most  respectable  men. 
Have  for  some  generations  be6n  vot'ries  of  mine ; 
They  have  bought  me  mould  candles,  and  bowed  at  my  shrine, 
They  have  made  my  monks  presents  of  ven'son  and  wine, 
With  a  right  of  free  pasturage,  too,  for  their  swine ; 

And  though  you  in  this-    Have  been  rather  remiss, 
Still  I  owe  you  a  turn  for  the  sake  of  '  Lang  Syne,' 
And  I  now  come  to  tell  you  your  cursing  and  swearing 
Have  reached  to  a  pitch  that  is  really  past  bearing. 

'Twere  a  positive  scandal      In  even  a  Vandal — 
It  ne'er  should  be  done  save  with  bell,  book,  and  candle ; 
And  though  I've  now  learned,  as  I've  always  suspected, 
Your  own  education's  been  somewhat  neglected. 
Still  you're  not  such  an  uninformed  pagan,  I  hope. 
As  not  to  know  cursing  belongs  to  the  Pope ! 
And  his  Holiness  feels,  very  properly,  jealous 
Of  all  such  encroachments  by  paltry  lay  fellows. 

Now,  take  my  advice ;      Saints  never  speak  twice. 
So  take  it  at  once,  as  I  once  for  all  give  it : 
Go  home !  you'll  find  there  all  as  right  as  a  trivet ; 
But  mind  and  remember,  if  once  you  give  way 
To  that  shocking  bad  habit  I'm  sorry  to  say 
I  have  heard  you  so  sadly  indulge  in  to-day, 
As  sure  as  you're  born,  on  the  very  first  trip 
That  you  make — the  first  oath  that  proceeds  from  your  lip — 
I'll  soon  make  you  rue  it!      I've  said  it — I'll  do  it ! 
'  Forewarned  is  forearmed  :'  you  shan't  say  but  you  knew  it. 
Whate'er  you  hold  dearest  or  nearest  your  heart, 
I'll  take  it  away,  if  I  come  in  a  cart ! — 

*  In  eodem  autem  prato  in  quo  baptizatus  Sanctus  Eomwoldus  nunquam  gratis- 
gimiis  odor  deficit ;  neque  ibi  horbte  pallesrunt,  sed  semper  in  viriditate  permanentes 
magna  nectaris  suavitate  redolent. — Nov.  Let/end.  Angl. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   ROM  WOLD.  501 

I  will,  on  my  honor !     You  know  it's  absurd 
To  suppose  that  a  Saint  ever  forfeits  his  word 
For  a  pitiful  Knight,  or  to  please  any  such  man ; 
I've  said  it — I'll  do't ! — if  I  don't,  I'm  a  Dutchman !" 


He  ceased — he  was  gone  as  he  closed  his  harangue, 
And  some  one  inside  shut  the  door  with  a  bang ! 

Sparkling  with  dew.      Each  green  herb  anew 
Its  profusion  of  sweets  o'er  Sir  Alured  threw. 
As  pensive  and  thoughtful  he  slowly  withdrew 
(For  the  hoofs  of  his  horse  had  got  rid  of  their  glue). 
And  the  cud  of  reflection  continued  to  chew 
Till  the  gables  of  Bonnington  Hall  rose  in  view. 
Little  recked  he  Avhat  he  smelt,  what  he  saw ; 

Brilliance  of  scenery,      Fragrance  of  greenery. 
Failed  in  impressing  his  mental  machinery ; 
Many  an  hour  had  elapsed,  well  I  ween,  ere  he 
Fairly  was  able  distinction  to  draw 
'Twixt  the  odor  of  garlic  and  bouquet  du  Hoi. 

Merrily,  merrily  sounds  the  horn, 

And  cheerily  ring  the  bells  ; 

For  the  race  is  run,      The  goal  is  won. 
The  little  lost  mutton  is  happily  found, — 
The  Lady  of  Bonnington's  safe  and  sound 

In  the  hall  where  her  new  Lord  dwells ! 
Hard  had  they  ridden,  that  company  gay, 
After  fair  Edith,  away  and  away : 
This  had  slipped  back  o'er  his  courser's  rump, 
That  had  gone  over  his  ears  with  a  plump. 
But  the  Lady  herself  had  stuck  on  like  a  trump, 

Till  her  panting  steed     Relaxed  her  speed. 
And  feeling,  no  doubt,  as  a  gentleman  feels 
When  he's  once  shown  a  bailiff  a  fair  pair  of  heels. 
Stopped  of  hci'self,  as  it's  very  well  known 
Horses  will  do  when  they're  thoroughly  blown ; 
And  thus  the  whole  group  had  foregathered  again, 
Just  as  the  sunshine  succeeded  the  rain. 


502  THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

Oh,  now  the  joy,  and  the  frolicking,  rollicking 

Doings  indulged  in  by  one  and  by  all ! 
Gayety  seized  on  the  most  melancholic  in 

All  the  broad  lands  around  Bennington  Hall ; 
All  sorts  of  revelry,     All  sorts  of  devilry, 

All  play  at  "  High  Jinks  "  and  keep  up  the  ball. 
Days,  weeks,  and  months,  it  is  really  astonishing, 

When  one's  so  happy,  how  Time  flies  away ! 
Meanwhile  the  Bridegroom  requires  no  admonishing 

As  to  what  passed  on  his  own  wedding-day ; 
Never  since  then      Had  Sir  Alured  Denne 
Let  a  word  fall  from  his  lip  or  his  pen 
That  began  with  a  D  or  left  off  with  an  N ! 

Once,  and  once  only,  when  put  in  a  rage 

By  a  careless  young  rascal  he'd  hired  as  a  page. 

All  buttons  and  brass,     Who,  in  handling  a  glass 
Of  spiced  hippocras,  throws      It  all  over  his  clothes, 

And  spoils  his  best  pourpoint  and  smartest  trunk  hose. 

While  stretching  his  hand  out  to  take  it  and  quaff"  it  (he 

'd  given  a  rose  noble  a  yard  for  the  taffety)  ; 

Then,  and  then  only,  came  into  his  head 

A  very  sad  word  that  began  with  a  Z ; 

But  he  checked  his  complaint,     He  remembered  the  Saint 

In  the  nick — Lady  Denne  was  beginning  to  faint : 

That  sight  on  his  mouth  acted  quite  as  a  bung ; 

Like  Mahomet's  coffin,  the  shocking  word  hung 

Half  way  'twixt  the  root  and  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 

Many  a  year     Of  mirth  and  good  cheer 
Flew  over  their  heads ; — to  each  other  more  dear 
Every  day,  they  were  quoted  by  peasant  and  peer 
As  the  rarest  examples  of  love  ever  known 
Since  the  days  of  Le  Chivaler  D'Arbie  and  Joanne, 
Who  in  Bonnington  chancel  lie  sculptured  in  stone. 

Well,  it  happened  at  last,      After  certain  years  past, 
That  an  embassy  came  to  our  court  from  afar — 
From  the  Grand  Duke  of  Muscovy,  now  called  the  Czar — 


A   LAY  OF  ST.    ROM  WOLD.  503 

And  the  Spindle-shanked  Monarch,  determined  to  do 
All  the  grace  that  he  could  to  a  nobleman  Avho 
Had  sailed  all  that  way  from  a  country  which  few 
In  our  England  had  heard  of,  and  nobody  knew, 
With  a  hat  like  a  muff,  and  a  beard  like  a  Jew, 
Our  arsenals,  buildings,  and  dockyards  to  view. 

And  to  say  how  desirous     His  Prince,  Wladimirus, 
Had  long  been  with  mutual  regard  to  inspire  us, 
And  how  he  regretted  he  was  not  much  nigher  us. 

With  other  fine  things      Such  as  Kings  say  to  Kings 
When  each  tries  to  humbug  his  dear  Royal  Brother,  in 
Hopes  by  such  "  gammon  "  to  take  one  another  in, — 

King  Longshanks,  I  say,      Being  now  on  his  way 
Bound  for  France,  where  the  rebels  had  kept  him  at  bay, 

Was  living  in  clover     At  this  time  at  Dover, 
I'  the  castle  there,  waiting  a  tide  to  go  over. 

He  had  summoned  I  can't  tell  you  how  many  men, — 
Knights,  nobles,  and  squires, — to  the  wars  of  Guienne, 
And  among  these,  of  course,  was  Sir  Alured  Denne, 

Who,  acting  like  most      Of  the  knights  in  the  host 
Whose  residence  was  not  too  far  from  the  coast, 
Had  brought  his  wife  with  him,  delaying  their  parting — 
Fond  souls ! — till  the  very  last  moment  of  starting. 

Of  course,  with  such  lots  of  lords,  ladies,  and  knights. 
In  their  Saracenettes*  and  their  bright  chain-mail  tights. 
All  accustomed  to  galas,  grand  doings,  and  sights, 
A  matter  like  this  was  at  once  put  to  rights ; 

'Twould  have  been  a  strange  thing     If  so  polished  a  King, 
With  his  Board  of  Green  Cloth,  and  Lord  Steward's  depart- 
ment. 
Couldn't  teach  an  Ambassador  what  the  word  "  smart "  meant. 
A  banquet  was  ordered  at  once  for  a  score, 
Or  more,  of  the  corps  that  had  just  come  on  shore, 
And  the  King,  though  he  thought  it  "  a  bit  of  a  bore," 


*  This  silk,  of  great  repute  among  our  ancestors,  had  been  brought  home,  a  few 
years  before,  by  Edward  from  the  Holy  Land. 


504  THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

Asked  all  the  elite     Of  his  levee  to  meet 
The  illustrious  Strangers  aud  share  in  the  treat ; 
For  the  Boyar  himself,  the  Queen  graciously  made  him  her 
Beau  for  the  day,  from  respect  to  Duke  Wladimir. 
(Queer  as  this  name  may  appear  in  the  spelling. 

You  Avon't  find  it  trouble  you,     Sound  but  the  W 
Like  the  first  L  in  Llau,  Lloyd,  aud  Llewellyn !) 

Fancy  the  fuss  and  the  fidgety  looks 

Of  Robert  de  Burghersh,  the  constables,  cooks ; 

For  of  course  the  cuisine     Of  the  King  aud  the  Queen 
Was  behind  them  at  London,  or  Windsor,  or  Sheen, 
Or  wherever  the  Court  ere  it  started  had  been, 

And  it's  really  no  jest     AVhen  a  troublesome  guest 
Looks  in  at  a  time  when  you're  busy  and  prest. 
Just  going  to  fight,  or  to  ride,  or  to  rest. 
And  expects  a  good  lunch  when  you've  none  ready  drest. 

The  servants,  no  doubt,     Were  much  put  to  the  rout 
By  this  very  extempore  sort  of  set-out ; 
But  they  wisely  fell  back  upon  Poor  Richard's  plan, 
"When   you  can't  what   you  would,  you   must  do  what  you 


can 


So  they  ransacked  the  country,  folds,  pig-styes,  and  pens, 
For  the  sheep  and  the  porkers,  the  cocks  and  the  hens ; 
'Twas  said  a  Tom-cat  of  Sir  Alured  Denne's, 

A  fine  tabby-gray.     Disappeared  on  that  day, 
And  what  ever  became  of  him  no  one  could  say. 

They  brought  all  the  food     That  ever  they  could, 
Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  with  sea-coal  and  dry  wood, 
To  his  Majesty's  Dapifer  Eudo  (or  Ude), 
They  lighted  the  town  up,  set  ringing  the  bells. 
And  borrowed  the  waiters  from  all  the  hotels. 
A  bright  thought,  moreover,  came  into  the  head 
Of  Dapifer  Eudo,  who'd  some  little  dread, 
As  he  said,  for  the  thorough  success  of  his  spread. 
So  he  said  to  himself,  "  What  a  thing  it  would  be 

Could  I  have  here  with  me     Some  one,  two,  or  three 
Of  their  outlandish  scullions  from  over  the  sea ! 


A   LAI'   OF  ST.   ROMWOLD.  505 

It's  a  hundred  to  one  if  the  Suite  or  their  Chief 

Understand  our  plum-puddings,  and  barons  of  beef; 

But  with  five  minutes'  chat  with  their  cooks  or  their  valets 

We'd  soon  dish  up  something  to  tickle  their  palates !" 

With  this  happy  conceit  for  improving  the  mess, 

Pooh-poohing  expense,  he  despatched  an  express 

In  a  wagon  and  four  on  the  instant  to  Deal, 

Who  dashed  down  the  hill  without  locking  the  wheel, 

And,  by  means  which  I  guess  but  decline  to  reveal, 

Seduced  from  the  Downs,  where  at  anchor  their  vessel  rode, 

Lumpoff  Icywitz,  serf  to  a  former  Count  Nesselrode, 

A  cook  of  some  fame.     Who  invented  the  same 
Cold  pudding  that  still  bears  the  family  name. 
This  accomplished,  the  Chefs  peace  of  mind  was  restored. 
And  in  due  time  a  banquet  was  placed  on  the  board 
"  In  the  very  best  style,"  which  implies,  in  a  word, 
"All  the  dainties  the  season"  (and  King)  "  could  afford." 

There  were  snijjes,  there  were  rails. 

There  were  woodcocks  and  quails. 
There  were  peacocks  served  up  in  their  pride  (that  is,  tails), 

Fricandeau,  fricassees,     Ducks  and  green  peas, 
Cotelettes  a  I' Indienne,  and  chops  a  la  Souhise 
(Which  last  you  may  call  "  onion  sauce"  if  you  please); 

There  were  barbecued  pigs     Stufied  with  raisins  and 
figs. 
Omelettes  and  haricots,  stews  and  ragouts, 
And  pork  griskins,  which  Jews  still  refuse  and  abuse. 
Then  the  wines,— round  the  circle  how  swiftly  they  went ! 
Canary,  Sack,  Malaga,  Malvoisie,  Tent ; 
Old  Hock  from  the  Rhine,  wine  remarkably  fine, 
Of  the  Charlemagne  vintage  of  Seven  Ninety-nine, — 
Five  cent'ries  in  bottle  had  made  it  divine ! 
The  rich  juice  of  Rousillon,  Gascoigne,  Bordeaux, 

Marasquiu,  Cura9oa,  Kirschen  Wasser,  Noyeau, 
And  Gin  which  the  company  voted  "  No  Go ;" 

The  guests  all  hob-nobbing.     And  bowing  and  bobbing ; 
Some  prefer  white  wine,  while  others  more  valued  red. 

Few,  a  choice  few,     Of  more  orthodox  gout, 
Stick  to  "  old  crusted  port,"  among  whom  was  Sir  Alured ; 


506  THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

Never  indeed  at  a  banquet  before 

Had  that  gallant  commander  enjoyed  himself  more. 

Then  came  "  sweets  " — served  in  silver  were  tartlets  and  pies — 

in  glass, 
Jellies  composed  of  punch,  calves'  feet,  and  isinglass, 
Creams,  and  whipt-syllabubs,  some  hot,  some  cool, 
Blancmange,  and  quince-custards,  and  gooseberry  fool. 
And  now  from  the  good  taste  which  reigns  it's  confest, 
In  a  gentleman's,  that  is,  an  Englishman's,  breast, 
And  makes  him  polite  to  a  stranger  and  guest, 

They  soon  played  the  deuce    With  a  large  Charlotte  Basse; 
More  than  one  of  the  party  despatched  his  plate  twice 
With  "  I'm  really  ashamed,  but — another  small  slice ! 
Your  dishes  from  Russia  are  really  so  nice !" 
Then  the  prime  dish  of  all !     "  There  was  nothing  so  good  in 

The  whole  of  the  Feed,"     One  and  all  were  agreed, 
"  As  the  great  Lumpoif  Icy witz'  Nesselrode  pudding !" 
Sir  Alured  Deune,  who'd  all  day,  to  say  sooth. 
Like  lago,  been  "  plagued  with  a  sad  raging  tooth," 
Which  had  nevertheless  interfered  very  little 
With  his — what  for  rhyme  I'm  obliged  to  spell — vittle, 

Requested  a  friend     Who  sat  near  him  to  send 
Him  a  spoonful  of  what  he  heard  all  so  commend, 
And  begged  to  take  wine  with  him  afterwards,  grateful 
Because  for  a  spoonful  he'd  sent  him  a  plateful. 
Having  emptied  his  glass — he  ne'er  balked  it  or  spilled  it — 
The  gallant  Knight  opened  his  mouth — and  then  filled  it. 

You  must  really  excuse  me — there's  nothing  could  bribe 
Me  at  all  to  go  on  and  attempt  to  describe 

The  fearsome  look  then     Of  Sir  Alured  Denne ! 
— Astonishment,  horror,  distraction  of  mind. 
Rage,  misery,  fear,  and  iced  pudding — combined ! 
Lip,  forehead,  and  cheek — how  these  mingle  and  meet — 
All  colors,  all  hues,  now  advance,  now  retreat, 
Now  pale  as  a  turnip,  now  crimson  as  beet ! 
How  he  grasps  his  arm-chair  iu  attempting  to  rise ! 
See  his  veins  how  they  swell !  mark  the  roll  of  his  eyes ! 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  ROMWOLD.  507 

Now  east  and  now  west,  now  north  and  now  south, 
Till  at  once  he  contrives  to  eject  from  his  mouth 

That  vile  "  spoonful " — what     He  has  got  he  knows  not, 
He  isn't  quite  sure  if  it's  cold  or  it's  hot ; 
At  last  he  exclaims,  as  he  starts  from  his  seat, 

"  A  SNOWBALL,  by !"  what  I  decline  to  repeat, — 

'Twas  the  name  of  a  bad  place,  for  mention  unmeet. 

Then  oh,  what  a  volley  ! — a  great  many  heard 

What  flowed  from  his  lips,  and  'twere  really  absurd 

To  suppose  that  each  man  was  not  shocked  by  each  word. 

A  great  many  heard,  too,  with  mixed  fear  and  wonder. 

The  terrible  crash  of  the  terrible  thunder 

That  broke  as  if  bursting  the  building  asunder ; 

But  very  few  heard,  although  every  one  might. 

The  short,  half-stifled  shriek  from  the  chair  on  the  right. 

Where  the  Lady  of  Bennington  sat  by  her  Knight ; 

And  very  few  saw — some — the  number  was  small, 

In  the  large  ogive  window  that  lighted  the  hall, 

A  small  stony  Saint  in  a  small  stony  pall, 

With  a  small  stony  mitre,  and  small  stony  crosier. 

And  small  stony  toes  that  owed  nought  to  the  hosier, 

Beckon  stonily  downward  to  some  one  below, 

As  Merryman  says,  "  for  to  come  for  to  go  !" 

While  every  one  smelt  a  delicious  perfume 

That  seemed  to  pervade  every  part  of  the  room ! 

Fair  Edith  Denne,     The  honne  et  belle  then. 
Never  again  was  beheld  among  men ! 
But  there  was  the  fauteuil  on  which  she  was  placed. 
And  there  was  the  girdle  that  graced  her  small  waist, 
And  there  was  her  stomacher,  brilliant  with  gems. 
And  the  mantle  she  wore,  edged  with  lace  at  the  hems ; 
Her  rich  brocade, gown  sat  upright  in  its  place. 
And   her  wimple  was   there — but  where — where   w^as   her 

FACE? 

'Twas  gone  with  her  body — and  nobody  knows. 
Nor  could  any  one  present  so  much  as  suppose, 
How  that  Lady  contrived  to  slip  out  of  her  clothes ! 


^08  THE  BLASPHEMER'S  WARNING. 

But  'twas  done — she  was  quite  gone — the  how  and  the  where, 
No  mortal  was  ever  yet  found  to  declare; 
Though  inquiries  were  made,  and  some  writers  record 
That  Sir  Alured  offered  a  handsome  reward. 

King  Edward  went  o'er  to  his  wars  in  Guienne, 
Taking  with  him  his  barons,  his  knights,  and  his  men. 

You  may  look  through  the  whole     Of  that  King's  muster- 
roll. 
And  you  won't  find  the  name  of  Sir  Alured  Dcnne ; 
But  Chronicles  tell  that  there  formerly  stood 
A  little  old  chapel  in  Bilsington  wood  ; 

The  remains  to  this  day,     ArchiBologists  say, 
May  be  seen,  and  I'd  go  there  and  look  if  I  could. 
There  long  dwelt  a  hermit  remarkably  good. 

Who  lived  all  alone,     And  never  was  known 
To  use  bed  or  bolster,  except  the  cold  stone ! 
But  would  groan  and  would  moan  in  so  piteous  a  tone, 
A  wild  Irishman's  heart  had  responded  "Och  hone!" 
As  the  fashion  with  hermits  of  old  was  to  keep  skins 
To  wear  with  the  wool  on — most  commonly  sheep-skins — 
He,  too,  like  the  rest,  was  accustomed  to  do  so ; 
His  beard,  as  no  barber  came  near  him,  too,  grew  so, 
He  bore  some  resemblance  to  Robinson  Crusoe ; 
In  Houndsditch,  I'm  told,  you'll  sometimes  see  a  Jew  so. 

He  lived  on  the  roots.     And  the  cob-nuts  and  fruits, 
Which  the  kind-hearted  rustics,  who  rarely  are  churls 
In  such  matters,  would  send  by  their  boys  and  their  girls ; 

They'd   not  get   him    to   speak.      If  they'd   tried   for   a 
week. 
But  the  color  would  always  mount  up  in  his  cheek, 
And  he'd  look  like  a  dragon,  if  ever  he  heard 
His  young  friends  use  a  naughty  expression  or  word. 
How  long  he  lived,  or  at  what  time  he  died, 
'Twere  hard,  after  so  many  years,  to  decide ; 
But  there's  one  point  on  which  all  traditions  agree, 
That  he  did  die  at  last,  leaving  no  legatee. 
And  his  linen  was  marked  with  an  A  and  a  D. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   ROM  WOLD.  509 

Alas  for  the  glories  of  Bonningtou  Hall ! 
Alas  for  its  splendor  !  alas  for  its  i'all ! 

Long  years  have  goue  by     Since  the  trav'ller  might  spy 
Any  decentish  house  in  the  parish  at  all. 
For  very  soon  after  the  awful  event 
I've  related,  'twas  said  through  all  that  part  of  Kent 
That  the  maids  of  a  morning,  when  putting  the  chairs 
And  the  tables  to  rights,  would  oft  pop  unawares 
In  one  of  the  parlors,  or  galleries,  or  stairs, 
On  a  tall  female  figure,  or  find  her,  far  horrider, 
Slowly  o'  nights  promenading  the  corridor ; 
But  whatever  the  hour,  or  wherever  the  place, 
No  one  could  ever  get  sight  of  her  face  ! 

Nor  could  they  perceive     Any  arm  in  her  sleeve. 
While  her  legs  and  her  feet,  too,  seemed  mere  "  make-believe," 
For  she  glided  along  with  that  shadow-like  motion 

Which  gives  one  the  notion 
Of  clouds  on  a  zephyr,  or  ships  on  the  ocean  ; 
And  though  of  hergown  they  could  hear  the  silk  rustle. 
They  saw  but  that  side  on't  ornee  with  the  bustle. 
The  servants,  of  course,  though  the  house  they  were  born  in, 
Soon  "  wanted  to  better  themselves,"  and  gave  warning. 
While  even  the  new  Knight  grew  tired  of  a  guest 
Who  would  not  let  himself  or  his  family  rest ; 

So  he  packed  up  his  all.     And  made  a  bare  wall 
Of  each  well-furnished  room  in  his  ancestors'  Hall, 
Then  left  the  old  mansion  to  stand  or  to  fall. 
Having  previously  barred  up  the  windows  and  gates, 
lo  avoid  paying  cesses  and  taxes  and  rates, 
A.nd  settled  on  one  of  his  other  estates. 
Where  he  built  a  new  mansion,  and  called  it  Denne  Hill, 
A.nd  there  his  descendants  reside,  I  think,  still. 

Poor  Bonnington,  empty,  or  left,  at  the  most,  .j 

Fo  the  joint  occupation  of  rooks  and  a  Ghost, 

Soon  went  to  decay.     And  mouldered  away. 
But  whether  it  dropped  dov.'n  at  last  I  can't  say, 
3r  whether  the  jackdaws  produced,  by  degrees,  a 
Spontaneous  combustion  like  that  one  at  Pisa 


510  THE  BLASPHEMER'S   WARNINO. 

Some  cent'ries  ago,     I'm  sure  I  don't  know, 
But  you  can't  find  a  vestige  now  ever  so  tiny, 
" Perierunt"  as  some  one  says,  " etiam  ruince." 


MORAL. 

The  first  maxim  a  couple  of  lines  may  be  said  in : 
If  you  are  in  a  passion,  don't  swear  at  a  wedding ! 

Whenever  you  chance  to  be  aske'd  out  to  dine. 

Be  exceedingly  cautious — don't  take  too  much  wine ! 

In  your  eating  remember  one  principal  point, 

Whatever  you  do,  have  your  eye  on  the  joint! 

Keep  clear  of  side  dishes,  don't  meddle  with  those 

Which  the  servants  in  livery,  or  those  in  plain  clothes, 

Poke  over  your  shoulders  and  under  your  nose ; 

Or,  if  you  must  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land. 

And  feed  on  fine  dishes  you  don't  understand, 

Buy  a  good  book  of  cookery !     I've  a  compact  one. 

First-rate  of  the  kind,  just  brought  out  by  Miss  Acton ; 

This  will  teach  you  their  names,  the  ingredients  they're  made  of, 

And  which  to  indulge  in,  and  which  be  afraid  of. 

Or  else,  ten  to  one,  between  ice  and  cayenne, 

You'll  commit  yourself  some  day,  like  Alured  Denne. 

"  To  persons  about  to  be  married,"  I'd  say. 
Don't  exhibit  ill-humor,  at  least  on  The  Day ! 
And  should  there  perchance  be  a  trifling  delay 
On  the  part  of  officials,  extend  them  your  pardon, 
And  don't  snub  the  parson,  the  clerk,  or  churchwarden ! 
To  married  men  this — For  the  rest  of  your  lives, 
Think  how  your  misconduct  may  act  on  your  wives ! 
Don't  swear  then  before  them,  lest  haply  they  faint. 
Or,  what  sometimes  occurs — run  away  with  a  Saint ! 


A   LAV  OF  ST.    THOMAS  A  BECKET.  511 

A  SERIOUS  error,  similar  to  that  which  forms  the  subject  of 
the  following  Legend,  is  said  to  have  occurred  in  the  case  of 
one,  or  rather  two  gentlemen  named  Curina,  who  dwelt  near 
Hippo  in  the  days  of  St.  Augustine.  The  matter  was  set  right, 
and  a  friendly  hint  at  the  same  time  conveyed  to  the  ill-used 
individual  that  it  would  be  advisable  for  him  to  apply  to  the 
above-mentioned  Father,  and  be  baptized  with  as  little  delay  as 
possible.  The  story  is  quoted  in  "  The  Doctor,"  together  with 
another  of  the  same  kind,  which  is  given  on  no  less  authority 
than  that  of  Gregory  the  Great. 


5ri)e  13totf)erj3  of  13irc|)ingtott. 

A  LAY  OF  ST.  THOMAS  A  BECKET. 

YOU  are  all  aware  that 
On  our  throne  there  once  sat 
A  very  great  king  who'd  an  Angevin  hat, 
With  a  great  sprig  of  broom,  which  he  wore  as  a  badge  in  it, 
Named,  from  this  circumstance,  Henry  Plantagenet. 

Pray  don't  suppose     That  I'm  going  to  prose 
O'er  Queen  Eleanor's  wrongs,  or  Miss  Rosamond's  woes, 
With  the  dagger  and  bowl,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Not  much  to  the  credit  of  Miss,  Queen,  or  King. 

The  tale  may  be  true,     But  between  me  and  you. 
With  the  King's  escapade  I'll  have  nothing  to  do ; 
But  shall  merely  select,  as  a  theme  for  my  rhymes, 
A  fact  which  occurred  to  some  folks  in  his  times. 

If  for  health,  or  a  "  lark,"     You  should  ever  embark 
In  that  best  of  improvements  on  boats  since  the  Ark, 
The  steam-vessel  called  the  "  Red  Rover,"  the  barge 
Of  an  excellent  officer,  named  Captain  Large, 


512  THE  BROTHERS   OF  BIRCHINGTON. 

You  may  see,  some  half  way    'Twixt  the  pier  at  Heme  Bay 
Aud  Margate,  the  ph\ce  where  you're  going  to  stay, 
A  village  called  Birchington,  famed  for  its  "  Eolls," 
As  the  fishing-bank,  just  in  its  front,  is  for  Soles. 

Well, — there  stood  a  fane     In  this  Harry  Broom's  reign, 
On  the  edge  of  the  cliflf,  overhanging  the  main, 
Renowned  for  its  sanctity  all  through  the  nation. 
And  orthodox  friars  of  the  Austin  persuasion. 

Among  them  there  was  one,     Whom  if  once  1  begun 
To  describe  as  I  ought  I  should  never  have  done, 
Father  Richard  of  Birchington,  so  was  the  Friar 
Yclept  whom  the  rest  had  elected  their  Prior. 

He  was  tall  and  upright,     About  six  feet  in  height, 
His  complexion  was  what  you'd  denominate  light, 
And  the  tonsure  had  left,  'mid  his  ringlets  of  brown, 
A  little  bald  patch  on  the  top  of  his  crown. 

His  bright  sparkling  eye     Was  of  hazel,  aud  nigh 
Rose  a  finely-arched  eyebrow  of  similar  dye ; 
He'd  a  small,  well-formed  mouth,  with  the  Owpidon  lip, 
And  an  aquiline  nose,  somewhat  red  at  the  tip. 

In  doors  and  out     He  was  very  devout, 
With  his  Aves  and  Paters — and  oh,  such  a  knout ! ! 
For  his  self-flagellations  :  the  Monks  used  to  say 
He  would  wear  out  two  penn'orth  of  whipcord  a  day ! 

Then  how  his  piety     Shows  in  his  diet !  he 
Dines  upon  pulse,  or,  by  way  of  variety, 
Sand-eels  or  dabs ;  or  his  appetite  mocks 
With  those  small  periwinkles  that  crawl  on  the  rocks. 

In  brief,  I  don't  stick     To  declare  Father  Dick, — 
So  they  called  him,  "  for  short," — was  a  "  Regular  Brick," 
A  metaphor  taken — I  have  not  the  page  aright — 
Out  of  an  ethical  work  by  the  Stagyrite. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  THOMAS  A   BECKET.  513 

Now  Nature,  'tis  said,     Is  a  comical  jade, 
A.nd  amoug  tlie  fantastical  tricks  she  has  played, 
Was  the  making  our  good  Father  Richard  a  Brother, 
A.S  like  him  in  form  as  one  pea's  like  another ; 

He  was  tall  and  upright.     About  six  feet  in  height. 
His  complexion  was  what  you'd  denominate  light, 
And,  though  he  had  not  shorn  his  ringlets  of  brown, 
He'd  a  little  bald  patch  on  the  top  of  his  crown. 

He'd  a  bright  sparkling  eye     Of  the  hazel ;  hard  by 
Rose  a  finely-arched  sourcil  of  similar  dye ; 
He'd  a  small,  well-shaped  mouth,  with  a  Cupidon  lip, 
And  a  good  Roman  nose,  rather  red  at  the  tip. 

But  here,  it's  pretended,     The  parallel  ended ; 
In  fact,  there's  no  doubt  his  life  might  have  been  mended. 
And  people  who  spoke  of  the  Prior  with  delight. 
Shook  their  heads  if  you  mentioned  his  brother,  the  Knight. 

If  you'd  credit  report,     There  was  nothing  but  sport 
And  High  Jinks  going  on  night  and  day  at  "  the  court," 
Where  Sir  Robert,  instead  of  devotion  and  charity, 
Spent  all  his  time  in  unseemly  hilarity. 

He  drinks  and  he  eats    Of  choice  liquors  and  meats, 
And  he  goes  out  on  We'n'sdays  and  Fridays  to  treats, 
Gets  tipsy  whenever  he  dines  or  he  sups. 
And  is  wont  to  come  quarrelsome  home  in  his  cups. 

No  Paters,  no  Aves ;     An  absolute  slave  he's 
To  tarts,  pickled  salmon,  and  sauces,  and  gravies  ; 
While  as  to  his  beads — what  a  shame  in  a  Knight ! — 
He  really  don't  know  the  wrong  end  from  the  right ! 

So,  though  'twas  owned  then,     By  nine  people  in  ten, 
That  "  Robert  and  Richard  were  two  pretty  men," 
Yet  there  the  praise  ceased,  or,  at  least,  the  good  Priest 
"\yas  considered  the  "  Beauty,"  Sir  Robert  the  "  Beast." 
33 


514  THE   BROTHERS   OF  BTRCHINOTON. 

Indeed,  I'm  afraid     More  might  have  been  laid 
To  the  charge  of  tlie  Knight  than  was  openly  said, 
For  then  we'd  no  "  Phiz's,"  no  "  H.  B.'s,"  nor  "  Leeches," 
To  call  Roberts  "  Bobs,"  and  illusti'ate  their  speeches. 

'Twas  whispered  he'd  rob,     Nay  murder !  a  job 
Which  would  stamp  him  no  "  brick,"  but  a  "  regular  snob" 
(An  obsolete  term,  which,  at  this  time  of  day, 
We  should  probably  render  by  mauvais  sujet). 

Now  if  here  such  affairs     Get  wind  unawares. 
They  are  bruited  about,  doubtless,  much  more  "  down  stairs," 
Where  Old  Nick  has  a  register-office,  they  say. 
With  commissioners  quite  of  such  matters  aufait. 

Of  course,  when  he  heard     What  his  people  averred 
Of  Sir  Robert's  proceedings  in  deed  and  in  word, 
He  asked  for  the  ledger,  and  hastened  to  look 
At  the  leaves  on  the  creditor  side  of  this  book. 

'Twas  with  more  than  surprise     That  he  now  ran  his  eyes 
O'er  the  numberless  items,  oaths,  curses,  and  lies, 
Et  cetera,  set  down  in  Sir  Robert's  account ; 
He  was  quite  "  flabbergasted  "  to  see  the  amount. 

"  Dear  me !  this  is  wrong !     It's  a  great  deal  too  strong ; 
I'd  no  notion  this  bill  had  been  standing  so  long — 
Send  Levybub  here !"  and  he  filled  up  a  writ  « 

Of  "  Ca  sa,"  duly  prefaced  with  "  Limbo  to  wit." 

"  Here,  Levybub,  quick !"     To  his  bailiff  said  Nick, 
"  I'm  '  ryled,'  and  '  my  dander's  up,'  '  Go  ahead  slick ' 
Up  to  Kent — not  Kentuck — and  at  once  fetch  away 
A  snob  there — I  guess  that's  a  Mauvais  Sujet. 

"  One  De  Birchington,  knight —     'Tis  not  clear  quite 
What  his  t'other  name  is — they've  not  entered  it  right, 
Ralph,  Robert,  or  Richard  ?  they've  not  gone  so  far. 
Our  critturs  have  put  it  down  merely  as  *  R.'  « 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  THOMAS  A   BECKET.  515 

"  But  he's  tall  and  upright,     About  six  feet  in  height, 
lis  complexion,  I  reckon,  you'd  calculate  light, 
Lnd  he's  further  '  set  down '  having  ringlets  of  brown, 
Vith  a  little  bald  patch  on  the  top  of  his  crown. 

"  Then  his  eye  and  his  lip,     Hook-nose,  red  at  tip, 
^re  marks  your  attention  can't  easily  slip ; 
L^ake  Slomanoch  with  you,  he's  got  a  good  knack 
)f  soon  grabbing  his  man,  and  be  back  in  a  crack !" 

That  same  afternoon     Father  Dick,  who  as  soon 
iVould  "  knock  in"  or  "  cut  chapel"  as  jump  o'er  the  moon, 
Was,  missing  at  vespers — at  compline — all  night ! 
Ind  his  monks  were,  of  course,  in  a  deuce  of  a  fright. 

Morning  dawned — 'twas  broad  day,   Still  no  Prior !  the  tray 
SV^ith  his  muffins  and  eggs  went  untasted  away ; — 
Ee  came  not  to  luncheon — all  said  "  it  \Yas  rum  of  him !" 
—None  could  conceive  what  on  earth  had  become  of  him. 

They  examined  his  cell.     They  peeped  down  the  well ; 
rhey  went  up  the  tow'r,  and  looked  into  the  bell ; 
rhey  dragged  the  great  fish-pond,  the  little  one  tried, 
But  found  nothing  at  all,  save  some  carp — which  they  fried. 

"  Dear  me !     Dear  me !     Why,  where  can  he  be  ? 
ile's  fallen  over  the  cliff? — tumbled  into  the  sea  ?" 
'  Stay — he  talked,"  exclaimed  one,  "  if  I  recollect  right, 
)f  making  a  call  on  his  brother,  the  Knight !" 

He  turns  as  he  speaks.     The  "  Court  Lodge"  he  seeks, 
^hich  was  known  then,  as  now,  by  the  queer  name  of  Quekes, 
^ut  scarce  half  a  mile  on  his  way  had  he  sped, 
^hen  he  spied  the  good  Prior  in  the  paddock — stone  dead ! 

Alas !  'twas  too  true !     And  I  need  not  tell  you 
n  the  convent  his  news  made  a  pretty  to  do  ; 
through  all  its  wide  precincts  so  roomy  and  spacious, 
J^'othing  was  heard  but  "  Bless  me .'"  and  "  Good  gracious !  !'* 


616  THE  BROTHERS   OF  BIRCHINGTON. 

They  sent  for  the  May'r     And  the  Doctor,  a  pair 
Of  grave  men,  who  began  to  discuss  the  affair, 
When  in  bounced  the  Coroner,  foaming  with  fury, 
"  Because,"  as  he  said,  "  'twas  pooh-poohing  his  jury." 

Then  commenced  a  dispute,     And  so  hot  they  went  to't 
That  things  seemed  to  threaten  a  serious  erneute, 
When,  just  in  the  midst  of  the  uproar  and  racket. 
Who  should  walk  in  but  St.  Thomas  a  Becket. 

Quoth  his  Saintship,  "  How  now  ?    Here's  a  fine  coil,  II 
trow; 
I  should  like  to  know,  gentlemen,  what's  all  this  row  ? 
Mr.  Wickliffe — or  Wackliffe — whatever  your  name  is — 
And  you,  Mr.  May'r,  don't  you  know,  sirs,  what  shame  is  ? 

**  Pray  what's    all    this    clatter      About  ? — what's    the 
matter  ?" 
Here  a  monk,  whose  teeth  funk  and  concern  made  to  chatter, 
Sobs  out,  as  he  points  to  the  corpse  on  the  floor, 
"  'Tis  all  dickey  with  poor  Father  Dick — he's  no  more !" 

"  How ! — what  ?"  says  the  Saint,    "  Yes  he  is — no  he  ain't  !* 
He  can't  be  deceased — pooh !  it's  merely  a  faint. 
Or  some  foolish  mistake  which  may  serve  for  our  laughter, 
'  He  should  have  died,'  like  the  old  Scotch  Queen,  '  hereafter.' 

"  His  time  is  not  out ;     Some  blunder,  no  doubt ; 
It  shall  go  hard  but  what  I'll  know  what  it's  about — 
I  shan't  be  surprised  if  that  scurvy  Old  Nick's 
Had  a  hand  in't ;  it  savors  of  one  of  his  tricks." 

When  a  crafty  old  hound     Claps  his  nose  to  the  ground, 
Then  throws  it  up  boldly  and  bays  out,  "  I've  found !" 
And  the  pack  catch  the  note,  I'd  as  soon  think  to  check  it. 
As  dream  of  bamboozling  St.  Thomas  a  Becket. 


*  Qmtise  for  "  is  not ;"  St.  Thomas,  it  seems,  had  lived  long  enough  in  the  country 
to  pick  up  a  few  of  its  proviucialisms. 


'Nick  stammered,  scarce  knowing  what  answer  to  make, 
'  Sir,  I'm  sadly  afraid  here  has  been  a  mistake.'  " 

p.  517. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  THOMAS  A   BECKET.  517 

Once  on  the  scent,     To  business  he  went. 
"  You  Scoundrel,  come  here,  sir"  ('twas  Nick  that  he  meant), 
"  Bring  your  books  here  this  instant — bestir  yourself — do ; 
I've  no  time  to  waste  on  such  fellows  as  you." 

Every  corner  and  nook     In  all  Erebus  shook, 
As  he  struck  on  the  pavement  his  pastoral  crook, 
All  its  tenements  trembled  from  basement  to  roofs, 
And  their  nigger  inhabitants  shook  in  their  hoofe. 

Hanging  his  ears.     Yet  dissembling  his  fears, 
Ledger  in  hand,  straight  "Auld  Hornie"  appears, 
With  that  sort  of  half-sneaking,  half-impudent  look. 
Bankrupts  sport  when  cross-questioned  by  Cresswell  or  Cooke. 

"  So,  sir-r-r !  you  are  here,"     Said  the  Saint  with  a  sneer ; 
1"  My  summons,  I  trust,  did  not  much  interfere 
With  your  morning  engagements — I  merely  desire. 
At  your  leisure,  to  know  what  you've  done  with  my  Prior. 

"  Now,  none  of  your  lies,     Mr.  Nick !  I'd  advise 
lYou  to  tell  me  the  truth  without  any  disguise, 
lOr-r-r !"     The  Saint,  while  his  rosy  gills  seemed  to  grow  rosier, 
Here  gave  another  great  thump  with  his  crosier. 

Like  a  small  boy  at  Eton,     Who's  not  quite  a  Crichton, 
And  don't  know  his  task,  but  expects  to  be  beaten, 
Nick  stammered,  scarce  knowing  what  answer  to  make, 
"  Sir,  I'm  sadly  afraid  here  has  been  a  mistake. 

"  These  things  will  occur.     We  are  all  apt  to  err, 
The  most  cautious  sometimes,  as  you  know,  holy  sir ; 
For  my  own  part — I'm  sure  I  do  all  that  I  can — 
But — the  fact  ia — I  fear  we  have  got  the  wrong  man." 

"  Wrong  man !"  roared  the  Saint —    But  the  scene  I  can't 
paint. 
The  best  colors  I  have  are  a  vast  deal  too  faint — 
Nick  afterwards  owned  that  he  ne'er  knew  what  fright  meant, 
Before  he  saw  Saint  under  so  much  excitement. 


518  THE  BROTHERS  OF  BIRCHINGTON. 

"  Wrong  man  !  don't  tell  me —    Pooh ! — fiddle-de-dee ! 
"What's  your  right,  Scamp,  to  any  man ! — come,  let  me  see ; 
I'll  teach  you,  you  thorough-paced  rascal,  to  meddle 
With  church  matters.     Come,  sirrah,  out  with  your  schedule !' 

In  support  of  his  claim     The  fiend  turns  to  the  name 
Of  "  De  Birchingtou  "  written  in  letters  of  flame, 
Below  which  long  items  stand,  column  on  column, 
Enough  to  have  eked  out  a  decent-sized  volume ! 

Sins  of  all  sorts  and  shapes,     From  small  practical  japes 
Up  to  dicings  and  drinkings,  and  murders  and  rapes, 
And  then  of  such  standing ! — a  merciless  tick. 
From  an  Oxford  tobacconist, — let  alone  Nick. 

The  Saint  in  surprise    Scarce  believed  his  own  eyes. 
Still  he  knew  he'd  to  deal  with  the  father  of  lies, 
And  "So  this! — you  call  this/"  he  exclaimed  in  a  searching 

tone, 
"  This ! ! !  the  account  of  my  friend  Dick  de  Birchington !" 

"  Why,"  said  Nick,  with  an  air    Of  great  candor,  "  it'] 
there 
Lies  the  awkwardest  part  of  this  awkward  afiair — 
I  thought  all  was  right — see  the  height  tallies  quite, 
The  complexion's  Avhat  all  must  consider  as  light ; 
There's  the  nose,  and  the  lip,  and  the  ringlets  of  brown, 
And  the  little  bald  patch  on  the  top  of  the  crown. 

"  And  then  the  surname.     So  exactly  the  same —  ,j 

I  don't  know — I  can't  tell  how  the  accident  came,  1 

But  some  how — I  own  it's  a  very  sad  job. 
But — my  bailifl!*  grabbed  Dick  when  he  should  have  nabbed  Bot 

"  I  am  vexed  beyond  bounds 

You  should  have  such  good  grounds 
For  complaint ;  I  would  rather  have  given  five  pounds. 
And  any  apology,  sir,  you  may  choose, 
I'll  make  with  much  pleasure,  and  put  in  the  '  News.' " 


A   LAY  OF  ST.  TUOMAS  A   BECKET.  519 

"An  apology ! — pooh !     Much  good  that  will  do ! 
An  ^apology'  quotha  ! — and  that  too  from  you  ! — 
Before  any  proposal  is  made  of  the  sort, 
Bring  back  your  stol'n  goods,  thief! — pi'oduce  them  in  Court." 

In  a  moment,  so  small     It  seemed  no  time  at  all, 
Father  Kichard  sat  up  on  his  what-do-ye-call — 
Sur  son  seant — and,  what  was  as  wondrous  as  pleasing, 
At  once  began  coughing,  and  sniffing,  and  sneezing. 

While,  strange  to  relate,     The  Knight,  whom  the  fate 
Of  his  brother  had  reached,  and  who  knocked  at  the  gate, 
To  make  further  inquiries,  had  scarce  made  his  bow 
To  the  Saint,  ere  he  vanished,  and  no  one  knew  how ! 

Erupit — evasit,     As  Tully  would  phrase  it. 
And  none  could  have  known  where  to  find  his  Hicjacet — 
That  sentence  which  man  his  mortality  teaches — 
Sir  Robert  had  disappeared,  body  and  breeches ! 

"  Heyday !  sir,  heyday !     What's  the  matter  now — eh  ?" 
Quoth  A  Becket,  observing  the  gen'ral  dismay ; 
"  How,  again  ! — 'pon  my  word,  this  is  really  too  bad ! 
It  would  drive  any  Saint  in  the  calendar  mad. 

"  What,  still  at  your  tricking  ?    You  will  have  a  kicking  ? 
I  see  you  won't  rest  till  you've  got  a  good  licking— 
Your  claim,  friend  ? — what  claim  ? — why,  you  showed  me  before 
That  your  old  claim  was  cancelled — you've  crossed  out  the 
score ! 

"  Is  it  that  way  you'd  Jew  one  ?    You've  settled  the  true 
one! 
Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  he  has  run  up  a  new  one  ? 

Of  the  thousands  you've  cheated     And  scurvily  treated, 
Name  one  you've  dared  charge  with  a  bill  once  receipted ! 
In  the  Bankruptcy  Court  should  you  dare  to  presume 
To  attempt  it,  they'd  soon  kick  you  out  of  the  room, 
— Ask  Commissioner  Fonblanque,  or  ask  my  Lord  Brougham. 


520  THE  BROTHERS   OF  BIRCIIINGTON. 

"And  then  to  make  under     »So  barefaced  a  blunder, 
Your  caption ! — why,  wluit's  the  world  come  to,  I  wonder? 
My  patience!  it's  just  like  his  impudence,  drat  him  ! 
— Stand  out  of  the  way  there,  and  let  me  get  at  him !" 

The  Saint  raised  liis  arm.     But  Old  Nick,  in  alarm, 
Dashed  up  through  the  skylight,  not  doing  much  harm. 
While,  quitte  pour  la  peur,  the  Knight,  sound  on  the  whole, 
Down  the  chimney  came  tumbling  as  black  as  a  coal ! 

Spare  we  to  tell      Of  what  after  befell ! 
How  the  Saint  lectured  Robert  de  Birchington  well, 
Batle  him  alter  his  life,  and  held  out  as  a  warning 
The  narrow  escape  he  had  made  on't  that  morning. 

Nor  need  we  declare     How,  then  and  there, 
The  Jury  and  Coroner  blew  up  the  May'r 
For  his  breach  of  decorum,  as  one  of  the  quorum, 
In  not  having  Levybub  brought  up  before  'em. 

Nor  will  you  require     Me  to  state  how  the  Prior 
Could  never  thenceforth  bear  the  sight  of  a  fire, 
Nor  ever  was  heard  to  express  a  desire 
In  cold  weather  to  see  the  thermometer  higher. 

Nor  shall  I  relate      The  subsequent  fate 
Of  St.  Thomas  a  Becket,  whose  reverend  pate 
Fitzurse  and  De  Morville,  and  Brito  and  Tracy, 
Shaved  off,  as  his  crown  had  been  merely  a  jasey.* 

Suffice  it  to  say.      From  that  notable  day 
The  "Twin  Birchington  Brothers"  together  grew  gray — 
In  the  same  holy  convent  continued  to  dwell. 
Same  food  and  same  fastings,  same  habit,  same  cell. 

No  more  the  Knight  rattles     In  broils  and  in  battles, 
But  sells,  by  De  Robins,  his  goods  and  his  chattels, 

*  Nee  satis  fult  eis  sanguine  sacerdotis  et  necc  eeclesiam  prophanare,  nisi,  coron& 
capitis  amputata,  funestis  gladiis  jam  defuncti  ejioeient  cerebrum.— Matt.  Paris. 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   THOMAS  A   BECKET.  521 

And,  counting  all  wealth  a  mere  Will-o'-the-wisp, 
Disposes  of  Quekes  to  Sir  Nicholas  Crispe. 

One  spot  alone     Of  all  he  had  known 
Of  his  spacious  domain  he  retained  as  his  own, 
In  a  neighboring  parish,  whose  name,  I  may  say, 
Scarce  any  two  people  pronounce  the  same  way. 

Re-CM^-ver  some  style  it,     While  others  revile  it 
As  bad,  and  say  i?e-culver ;  'tisn't  worth  while,  it 
Would  seem,  to  dispute,  when  we  know  the  result  immat- 
erial :  I  accent,  myself,  the  penultimate. 

Sages  with  brains      Full  of  "Saxon  remains" 
May  call  me  a  booby,  perhaps,  for  my  pains, 
Still  I  hold,  at  the  hazard  of  being  thought  dull  by  'em, 
Fast  by  the  quantity  marked  for  Regulblum. 

I  Call't  as  you  will.      The  traveller  still. 

In  the  voyage  that  we  talked  about,  marks  on  the  hill 
Overhanging  the  sea  the  "  twin  towers  "  raised  then 
By  "  Robert  and  Richard,  those  two  pretty  men." 

Both  tall  and  upright.      And  just  equal  in  height ; 
The  Trinity  House  talked  of  painting  them  white. 
And  the  thing  was  much  spoken  of  some  time  ago, 
When  the  Duke,  I  believe — but  I  really  don't  know 


Well,  there  the  "  Twins "  stand      On  the  verge  of  the 
land. 
To  warn  mariners  off  from  the  Columbine  sand ; 
And  many  a  poor  man  have  Robert  and  Dick 
By  their  vow  caused  to  'scape,  like  themselves,  from  Old  Nick. 

So,  whether  you're  sailors.      Or  Tooley-Street  tailors 
Broke  loose  from  your  masters,  those  sternest  of  jailers, 
And,  bent  upon  pleasure,  are  taking  your  trip 
In  a  craft  which  you  fondly  conceive  is  a  ship,  •- 


622  THE  BROTHERS  OF  BIRGHINQTON. 

Wlioii  you've  passed  by  the  Nore, 

Antl  you  hoar  the  winds  roar 
In  a  manner  you  scarce  could  have  fancied  before, 

When  the  cordage  and  tackling     Are  flapping  and  crack- 
ling, 

And  the  boy  with  the  bell      Thinks  it  useless  to  tell 
You  that  "  dinner's  on  table,"  because  you're  unwell ; — 


When  above  you  all's  "  scud,"      And  below  you  the  flood 
Looks  a  horrible  mixture  of  soapsuds  and  mud, 

When  the  timbers  are  straining,      And  folks  are  com- 
plaining 
The  dead-lights  are  letting  the  spray  and  the  rain  in, 

When  the  helmsman  looks   blue,      And  Captain  Large 
too, 
And  you  really  don't  know  what  on  earth  you  shall  do, — 


In  this  hubbub  and  row     Think  where  you'd  be  now. 
Except  for  the  Birchington  boys  and  their  vow  ! 
And  while  o'er  the  wide  wave  you  feel  the  craft  pitch  hard, 

^caie  fot  ge  sciU)le0  of  Mofimte  anti  MBcJ)att» ! 


MORAL. 

It's  a  subject  of  serious  complaint  in  some  houses, 
With  young  married  men  who  have  elderly  spouses, 
That  persons  are  seen  in  their  figures  and  faces, 
With  very  queer  people  in  very  queer  places, 
80  like  them  that  one  for  the  other's  oft  taken. 
And  conjugal  confidence  thereby  much  shaken: 
Explanations  too  often  are  thought  mere  pretences, 
And  Richard  gets  scolded  for  Robert's  offences. 


In  a  matter  so  nice,     If  I'm  asked  my  advice, 
I  say  copy  King  Henry  to  obviate  that. 
And  stick  something  remarkable  up  in  your  hat ! 


A   LAY  OF  ST.   THOMAS  1   BEGKET.  523 

Next,  observe,  in  this  world  where  we've  so  many  cheats, 

How  useful  it  is  to  preserve  your  receipts ! 

If  you  deal  with  a  person  whose  truth  you  don't  doubt, 

Be  particular,  still,  that  your  bill  is  crossed  out : 

But,  with  any  inducement  to  think  him  a  scamp. 

Have  a  formal  receipt  on  a  regular  stamp  ! 

Let  every  gay  gallant  my  story  who  notes 

Take  warning,  and  not  go  on  "  sowing  wild  oats !" 

Nor  depend  that  some  friend     Will  always  attend, 
And  bj  "  making  all  right"  bring  him  off  in  the  end ; 
He  may  be  mistaken,  so  let  him  beware, — 
St.  Thomas  a  Beckets  are  now  rather  rare. 


Last  of  all,  may'rs  and  magistrates,  never  be  rude 
To  juries !  they  are  people  who  wonH  be  pooh-poohed ! 
Especially  Sandwich  ones — no  one  can  say 
But  himself  may  come  under  their  clutches  one  day ; 

They  then  may  pay  off    In  kind  any  scoff. 
And,  turning  their  late  verdict  quite  "  wUey  wersey" 
*^ Acquit  you,"  and  not  "  recommend  you  to  mercy."  * 


*  At  a  Quarter  Sessions  held  at  Sandwich  (some  six  miles  from  Birchinfftonl,  on 
Tuesday,  the  8th  of  April  last,  before  W.  F.  Boteler,  Esq.,  the  Recorder,  Thomas  Jones, 
mariner,  aged  seventeen,  was  tried  for  stealing  a  jacket,  value  ten  shillings.  The  jury, 
after  a  patient  hearing,  found  him  "not  guilty,"  and  "recommended  him  to  mercy." 
See  the  whole  case  reported  in  the  "  Kentish  Observer,"  AprU  10, 1845. 


524  THE  KNIOIIT  AND    THE  LADY. 

A  DOMESTIC  LEGEND  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ANNE. 

"  Ilail,  wedded  love !  mysterious  tie !" 

Thomson — or  Somebody. 

THE  LADY  JANE  was  tall  and  slim, 
The  Lady  Jane  was  fair, 
And  Sir  Thomas,  her  Lord,  was  stout  of  limb, 
But  his  cough  was  short,  and  his  eyes  were  dim, 
And  he  wore  green  "  specs,"  with  a  tortoise-shell  rim, 
And  his  hat  was  remarkably  broad  in  the  brim, 
And  she  was  uncommonly  fond  of  him, — 

And  they  were  a  loving  pair ! — 
And  the  name  and  the  fame 

Of  the  Knight  and  his  Dame 
Were  ev'ry  where  hailed  with  the  loudest  acclaim ; 
And  wherever  they  went,  or  wherever  they  came. 

Far  and  wide.     The  people  cried, 
"  Huzza !  for  the  Lord  of  this  noble  domain, — 
Huzza!  Huzza!  Huzza! — once  again! — 

Encore ! — Encore ! —  One  cheer  more  1 
— All  sorts  of  pleasure,  and  no  sort  of  pain, 
To  Sir  Thomas  the  Good,  and  the  Fair  Lady  Jane ! !" 

Now  Sir  Thomas  the  Good,     Be  it  well  understood. 
Was  a  man  of  a  very  contemplative  mood, — 

He  would  pore  by  the  hour    O'er  a  weed  or  a  flower, 
Or  the  slugs  that  come  crawling  out  after  a  shower ; 
Black-beetles,  and  Bumble-bees, — Blue-bottle  flies. 
And  Moths,  were  of  no  small  account  in  his  eyes ; 
An  "  Industrious  Flea"  he'd  by  no  means  despise. 
While  an  "  Old  Daddy-long-legs,"  whose  "  long  legs  "  and  thighs 
Passed  the  common  in  shape,  or  in  color,  or  size. 
He  was  wont  to  consider  an  absolute  prize. 
Nay,  a  hornet  or  wasp  he  could  scarce  "  keep  his  paws  off"" — he 


A   LEGEND   OF  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ANNE.     525 

Gave  up,  in  short,     Both  business  and  sport, 
And  abandoned  himself,  tout  entier,  to  Philosophy. 


Now,  as  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim. 

And  Lady  Jane  was  fair. 
And  a  good  many  years  the  junior  of  him, — 

And  as  he,     All  agree, 
Looked  less  like  her  Mari, 
As  he  walked  by  her  side,  than  her  Fbre,* 
There  are  some  might  be  found  entertaining  a  notion 
That  such  an  entire  and  exclusive  devotion 
To  that  part  of  science  folks  style  Entomology 

Was  a  positive  shame,     And,  to  such  a  fair  Dame, 
Really  demanded  some  sort  of  apology : 

— No  doubt  it  would  vex     One  half  of  the  sex 
To  see  their  own  husband  in  horrid  green  "  specs," 
Instead  of  enjoying  a  sociable  chat. 
Still  poking  his  nose  into  this  and  to  that. 
At  a  gnat,  or  a  bat,  or  a  cat,  or  a  rat. 

Or  great  ugly  things.     All  legs  and  wings. 
With  nasty  long  tails  armed  with  nasty  long  stings ; 
And  they'd  join  such  a  log  of  a  spouse  to  condemn, 

— One  eternally  thinking,     And  blinking,  and  winking 
At  grubs, — when  he  ought  to  be  winking  at  them. — 

But  no ! — oh  no !     'Twas  by  no  means  so 
With  the  Lady  Jane  Ingoldsby — she,  far  discreeter. 
And  having  a  temper  more  even  and  sweeter. 

Would  never  object  to     Her  spouse,  in  respect  to 

His  poking  and  peeping     After  "  things  creeping :" 
Much  less  be  still  keeping  lamenting,  and  weeping, 
Or  scolding  at  what  she  perceived  him  so  deep  in. 

I'  Tout  au  contraire,     No  lady  so  fair 

Was  e'er  known  to  wear  more  contented  an  air ; 


*  My  friend,  Mr.  Hood, 
In  his  comical  mood, 
Would  have  probably  styled  the  good  Knight  and  his  Lady — 
Him—"  Stern-old  and  Hopkina,"  and  her  "  T6te  and  Braidy." 


526  THE  K mo  ITT  AND   THE  LADY. 

And, — lot  who  would  call, — every  day  she  was  there, 
rropounding  receipts  for  some  delicate  fare, 
Some  toothsome  couserve  of  quince,  apple,  or  pear, 
Oy  distilling  strong  waters, — or  polling  a  hare, — 
Or  counting  her  spoons  and  her  crockery-ware ; 
Or  else,  her  tambour-frame  before  her,  with  care 
Embroidering  a  stool  or  a  back  for  a  chair. 
With  needle- work  roses,  most  cunning  and  rare, 
Enough  to  make  less  gifted  visitors  stare. 

And  declare,  w'here'er 

They  had  been,  that  "  they  ne'er 
In  their  lives  had  seen  aught  that  at  all  could  compare 
With  dear  Lady  Jane's  housewifery — that  they  would  swear." 


Nay,  more ;  don't  suppose     With  such  doings  as  those 
This  account  of  her  merits  must  come  to  a  close ; 
No ; — examine  her  conduct  more  closely,  you'll  find 
She  by  no  means  neglected  improving  her  mind ; 
For  there,  all  the  while,  with  air  quite  bewitching. 
She  sat  herring-boning,  tambouring,  or  stitching. 
Or  having  an  eye  to  affairs  of  the  kitchen. 

Close  by  her  side     Sat  her  kinsman,  MacBride, 
Her  cousin,  fourteen-times  removed, — as  you'll  see 
If  you  look  at  the  Ingoldsby  family  tree, 
In  "  Burke's  Commoners,"  vol.  xx.  page  53. 

All  the  papers  I've  read  agree.     Too,  with  the  pedigree. 
Where,  among  the  collateral  branches,  appears 
"  Captain  Dugald  MacBride,  Royal  Scots  Fusileers ;" 
And  I  doubt  if  you'd  find  in  the  whole  of  his  clan 
A  more  highly-intelligent,  worthy  young  man  ; — 

And  there  he'd  be  sitting,     While  she  was  a-knitting, 
Or  hemming,  or  stitching,  or  darning  and  fitting. 
Or  putting  a  " gore,"  or  a  "gusset,"  or  " bit"  in, 
Reading  aloud,  with  a  very  grave  look, 
Some  very  "  wise  saw  "  from  some  very  good  book, — 

Some  such  pious  divine. as    St.  Thomas  Aquinas ; 

Or,  equally  charming.     The  works  of  Bellarmine ; 

Or  else  he  unravels    The  "  voyages  and  travels" 


A   LEGEND   OF  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ANNE.      527 

Of  Hackluytz — (how   sadly   these   Dutch   names   do  sully 

verse !) — 
Purchas's,  Hawksworth's,  or  Lemuel  Gulliver's, — 
Not  to  uame  others,  'mongst  whom  there  are  few  so 
Admired  as  John  Buuyan,  and  Robinson  Crusoe. — 
No  matter  who  came,     It  was  always  the  same, 
The  Captain  was  reading  aloud  to  the  Dame, 
Till,  from  having  gone  through  half  the  books  on  the  shelf, 
They  were  almost  as  wise  as  Sir  Thomas  himself. 

Well, — it  happened  one  day,     — I  really  can't  say 
The  particular  month ;  but  I  think  'twas  in  May, — 
'Twas,  I  hioxD,  in  the  Spring-time, — when  "  Nature  looks  gay," 
As  the  Poet  observes, — and  on  tree-top  and  spray 
The  dear  little  dickey-birds  carol  away ; 
"When  the  grass  is  so  green,  and  the  sun  is  so  bright, 
And  all  things  are  teeming  with  life  and  with  light, — 
That  the  whole  of  the  house  was  thrown  into  affright, 
For  no  soul  could  conceive  what  was  gone  with  the  Knight ! 

It  seems  he  had  taken     A  light  breakfast — bacon, 
An  egg — with  a  little  broiled  haddock — at  most 
A  round  and  a  half  of  some  hot  buttered  toast. 
With  a  slice  of  cold  sirloin  from  yesterday's  roast. 

And  then — let  me  see ! —     He  had  two — perhaps  three — 
Cups  (with  sugar  and  cream)  of  strong  gunpowder  tea, 
With  a  spoonful  in  each  of  some  choice  eau  de  vie, 
— Which  with  nine  out  of  ten  would  perhaps  disagree. — 

In  fact,  I  and  my  son     Mix  "  black  "  with  our  "  Hyson," 
Neither  having  the  nerves  of  a  bull,  or  a  bison, 
And  both  hating  brandy  like  what  some  call  "  pison." 

No  matter  for  that —     He  had  called  for  his  hat. 
With  the  brim  that  I've  said  was  so  broad  and  so  flat, 
And  his  "specs"  Avith  the  tortoise-shell  rim,  and  his  cane 
With  the  crutch-handled  top,  which  he  used  to  sustain 
His  steps  in  his  walks,  and  to  poke  in  the  shrubs 
And  the  grass,  when  unearthing  his  worms  and  his  grubs — 
Thus  armed,  he  set  out  on  a  ramble — alack ! 
He  set  out,  poor  dear  Soul ! — but  he  never  came  back. 


.^28  THE  KNIGHT  AND    THE  LADY. 

"  First  dinner-bell"  rang     Out  its  euphonous  clang 
At  five— folks  kept  early  hours  then — and  the  "  Last" 
J)ing-dongod,  as  it  was  ever  wont,  at  half-past, 

While  Betsey  and  Sally,     And  Thompson  the  Valet, 
And  every  one  else  was  beginning  to  bless  himself, 
AVondering  the  Knight  had  not  come  in  to  dress  himself. — 
— (^uotli  Betsey,  "  Dear  me !  why,  the  fish  will  be  cold !" — 
Quoth  Sally,  "  Good  gracious !  how  *  Missis'  will  scold !" 

Thompson,  the  Valet,     Looked  gravely  at  Sally, 
As  who  should  say,  "  Truth  must  not  always  be  told !" 
Then,  expressing  a  fear  lest  the  Knight  might  take  cold. 

Thus  exposed  to  the  dews,     Lamb's-wool  stockings  and 
shoes. 

Of  each  a  fresh  pair,     He  put  down  to  air. 
And  hung  a  clean  shirt  to  the  fire  on  a  chair. — 

Still  the  Master  was  absent — the  Cook  came  and  said,  "  he 
Much  feared,  as  the  dinner  had  been  so  long  ready, 

The  roast  and  the  boiled     Would  be  all  of  it  spoiled, 
And  the  puddings  her  Ladyship  thought  such  a  treat, 
He  was  morally  sure,  would  be  scarce  fit  to  eat !" 

This  closed  the  debate —     "  'Twould  be  folly  to  wait," 
Said  the  Lady,  "  Dish  up ! — Let  the  meal  be  served  straight, 
And  let  two  or  three  slices  be  put  on  a  plate. 
And  kept  hot  for  Sir  Thomas. — He's  lost,  sure  as  fate ! 
And,  a  hundred  to  one,  won't  be  home  till  it's  late !" 
— Captain  Dugald  MacBride  then  proceeded  to  face 
The  Lady  at  table, — stood  up,  and  said  grace, — 
Then  sat  himself  down  in  Sir  Thomas's  place. 

Wearily,  wearily,  all  that  night, 

That  live-long  night,  did  the  hours  go  by ; 
And  the  Lady  Jane,     In  grief  and  in  pain, 

She  sat  herself  down  to  cry ! 
And  Captain  MacBride,     Who  sat  by  her  side, 
Though  I  really  can't  say  that  he  actually  cried, 

At  least  had  a  tear  in  his  eye ! — 
As  much  as  can  well  be  expected,  perhaps. 
From  "  very  young  felloWs  "  for  very  "  old  chaps ;" 


A   LEGEND   OF  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ANNE.      529 

And  if  he  had  said     "What  he'd  got  iu  his  head, 
'Twould  have  beeu  "  Poor  old  Buffer !  he's  certainly  dead !" 

The  morning  dawned, — and  the  next, — and  the  next, 

And  all  in  the  mansion  were  still  perplexed ; 

No  watch-dog  "  bayed  a  welcome  home,"  as 

A  watch-dog  should,  to  the  "  Good  Sir  Thomas ;" 

No  knocker  fell     His  approach  to  tell, 
Not  so  much  as  a  runaway  ring  at  the  bell — 
The  Hall  was  silent  as  Hermit  s  cell. 

Yet  the  sun  shone  bright  upon  tower  and  tree. 
And  the  meads  smiled  green  as  green  may  be. 
And  the  dear  little  dickey-birds  carolled  with  glee, 
And  the  lambs  in  the  park  skipped  merry  and  free — 
Without,  all  was  joy  and  harmony ! 

"And  thus  'twill  be, — nor  long  the  day, — 
Ere  we,  like  him,  shall  pass  away ! 
Yon  Sun,  that  now  oiir  bosoms  warms. 
Shall  shine, — but  shine  on  other  forms ; — 
Yon  Grove,  whose  choir  so  sweetly  cheers 
Us  now,  shall  sound  on  other  ears, — 
The  joyous  Lamb,  as  now,  shall  play. 
But  other  eyes  its  sports  survey, — 
The  Stream  we  love  shall  roll  as  fair. 
The  flowery  sweets,  the  trim  Parterre, 
Shall  scent,  as  now,  the  ambient  air, — 
The  Tree,  whose  bending  branches  bear 
The  One  loved  name,  shall  yet  be  there ; — 
But  where  the  hand  that  carved  it  ? — "Where  ?" 

These  were  hinted  to  me  as     The  very  ideas 
"Which  passed  through  the  mind  of  the  fair  Lady  Jane, 
Her  thoughts  having  taken  a  sombre-ish  train, 
As  she  walked  on  the  esplanade,  to  and  again, 

"With  Captain  MacBride,     Of  course,  at  her  side, 
"Who  could  not  look  quite  so  forlorn, — though  he  tried, 
34 


530  THE  KNIGHT  AND   THE  LADY. 

— An  "  idea,"  in  fivt-t,  had  got  into  his  head, 
That  if  "  poor  dear  Sir  Thomas"  should  really  be  dead. 
It  might  be  no  bad  "  spec."  to  be  there  in  his  stead, 
And,  by  simply  contriving,  in  due  time,  to  wed 
A  Lady  who  was  young  and  fair, 

A  Lady  slim  and  tall, 
To  set  himself  down  in  comfort  there 
The  Lord  of  Taptou*  Hall.— 

Thinks  he,  "  We  have  sent  Half  over  Kent, 
And  nobody  knows  how  much  money's  been  spent. 
Yet  no  one's  been  found  to  say  which  way  he  went ! — 

The  groom,  who's  been  over    To  Folkestone  and  Dover, 
Can't  get  any  tidings  at  all  of  the  rover ! 
— Here's  a  fortnight  and  more  has  gone  by,  and  we've  tried 
Every  plan  we  could  hit  on — the  whole  country-side. 
Upon  all  its  dead  walls,  with  placards  we've  supplied, — 
And  we've  sent  out  the  Crier,  and  had  him  well  cried — 

Missing  ! !     Stolen,  or  strayed,     Lost,  or  mislaid, 
A  Gentleman  ; — middle-aged,  sober,  and  staid ; — 
Stoops  slightly  ; — and  when  he  left  home  was  arrayed 
In  a  sad-colored  suit,  somewhat  dingy  and  frayed ; — 
Had  spectacles  on  with  a  tortoise-shell  rim, 
And  a  hat  rather  low-crowned,  and  broad  in  the  brim. 

Whoe'er     Shall  bear.     Or  shall  send  him  with  care 
(Right  side  uppermost)  home ;  or  shall  give  notice  where 
The  said  middle-aged  Gentleman  is ;  or  shall  state 
Any  fact  that  may  tend  to  throw  light  on  his  fate. 
To  the  man  at  the  turnpike,  called  Tappington  Gate, 
Shall  receive  a  Reward  of  Five  Pounds  for  his  trouble. — 
(B®°-  N.B.— If  defunct,  the  Reward  will  be  double ! !'  "®a) 

"  Had  he  been  above  ground     He  mud  have  been  found. 
No ;  doubtless  he's  shot, — or  he's  hanged, — or  he's  drowned ! 


*  The  familiar  abbreviation  for  Tappington  Everard  still  in  use  among  the  tenantry. 
Vide  Prefatory  Introduction  to  the  lugoldsby  Legends. 


A   LEGEND   OF  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ANNE.      531 

Then  his  Widow — ay !  ay ! —     But  what  will  folks  say  ? 
— To  address  her  at  once — at  so  early  a  day  ? 
Well — what  then  ? — who  cares  ? — let  'em  say  what  they  may — 
A  fig  for  their  nonsense  and  chatter ! — suffice  it,  her 
Charms  mil  excuse  one  for  casting  sheep's  eyes  at  her !" 

When  a  man  has  decided     As  Captain  MacBride  did, 
And  once  fully  made  up  his  mind  on  the  matter,  he 
Can't  be  too  prompt  in  unmasking  his  battery. 
He  began  on  the  instant,  and  vowed  that  "  her  eyes 
Far  exceeded  in  brilliance  the  stars  in  the  skies, — 
That  her  lips  were  like  roses — her  cheeks  were  like  lilies — 
Her  breath  had  the  odor  of  dafiy-down-dillies !" — 
With  a  thousand  more  compliments  equally  true. 
And  expressed  in  similitudes  equally  new ! 

— Then  his  left  arm  he  placed    Round  her  jimp,  taper 

waist — 
— Ere  she  fixed  to  repulse,  or  return,  his  embrace, 
Up  came  running  a  man,  at  a  deuce  of  a  pace, 
With  that  very  peculiar  expression  of  face 
Which  always  betokens  dismay  or  disaster, 
Crying  out — 'twas  the  Gardener — "  Oh,  Ma'am !  we've  found 

Master !" 
— "  Where  ?  where  ?"  screamed  the  lady ;  and  Echo  screamed 

"where?" 
The  man  couldn't  say  "  There !"     He  had  no  breath  to 

spare. 
But,  gasping  for  air,  he  could  only  respond 
By  pointing — he  pointed,  alas ! — to  the  Pond  ! 

— 'Twas  e'en  so — poor  dear  Knight! — with  his  "specs"  and 

his  hat 
He'd  gone  poking  his  nose  into  this  and  to  that ; 

When,  close  to  the  side     Of  the  bank  he  espied 
An  "  uncommon  fine  "  Tadpole,  remarkably  fat ! 

He  stooped ;  and  he  thought  her 

His  own ; — he  had  caught  her ! 
Got  hold  of  her  tail, — and  to  land  almost  brought  her. 
When — he  plumped  head  and  heels  into  fifteen  feet  water : 


6o2  THE  KNionr  and  the  ladt. 

The  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim, 

The  Lady  Jane  was  fair, 
Alas,  for  Sir  Thomas ! — she  grieved  for  him, 
As  she  saw  two  serving-men,  sturdy  of  limb. 
His  body  between  them  bear. 
She  sobbed,  and  she  sighed ;  she  lamented,  and  cried, 

For  of  sorrow  brimful  was  her  cup ; 
She  swooned,  and  I  think  she'd  have  fall'n  down  and  died, 

If  Captain  MacBride     Had  not  been  by  her  side, 
With  the  Gardener;  they  both  their  assistance  supplied, 
And  managed  to  hold  her  up. — 

But  when  she  "  comes  to,"     Oh  !  'tis  shocking  to  view 
The  sight  which  the  corpse  reveals ! 

Sir  Thomas's  body,     It  looked  so  odd — he 
Was  half  eaten  up  by  the  eels ! 
His  waistcoat  and  hose,  and  the  rest  of  his  clothes. 
Were  all  gnawed  through  and  through ; 
And  out  of  each  shoe    An  eel  they  drew ; 
And  from  each  of  his  pockets  they  pulled  out  two. 
And  the  Gardener  himself  had  secreted  a  few, 

As  well  we  may  suppose ; 
For,  when  he  came  running  to  give  the  alarm. 
He  had  six  in  the  basket  that  hung  on  his  arm. 

Good  Father  John  *     Was  summoned  anon  ; 
Holy  water  was  sprinkled,     And  little  bells  tinkled. 
And  tapers  were  lighted,     And  incense  ignited, 
And  masses  were  sung,  and  masses  were  said, 
All  day,  for  the  quiet  repose  of  the  dead. 
And  all  night  no  one  thought  about  going  to  bed. 

But  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim, 
And  Lady  Jane  was  fair, — 
And,  ere  morning  came,  that  winsome  dame 
Had  made  up  her  mind — or,  what's  much  the  same. 
Had  thought  about — once  more  "  changing  her  name," 

*  For  some  account  of  Father  John  Ingoldsby,  to  whose  papers  I  am  so  much 
beholden,  sec  p.  163.    This  was  the  last  ecclesiastical  act  of  his  long  and  valuable  Ufe. 


I 


A   LEGEND  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ANNE.     533 

Aud  she  said,  with  a  pensive  air, 
To  Thompson  the  Valet,  while  taking  away. 
When  supper  was  over,  the  cloth  and  the  tray, — 
"  Eels  a  many     I've  ate ;  but  any 

So  good  ne'er  tasted  before  1 — 
They're  a  fish,  too,  of  which  I'm  remarkably  fond, — 
Go,  pop  Sir  Thomas  again  in  the  Pond — 

Poor  dear ! — he'll  catch  us  some  more  ! ! 


MORAL. 

All  middle-aged  Gentlemen  let  me  advise. 
If  you're  married,  and  have  not  got  very  good  eyes, 
Don't  go  poking  about  after  blue-bottle  flies ! — 
If  you've  spectacles,  don't  have  a  tortoise-shell  rim. 
And  don't  go  near  the  water — unless  you  can  swim ! 

Married  Ladies,  especially  such  as  are  fair, 
Tall,  and  slim,  I  would  next  recommend  to  beware 
How,  on  losing  one  spouse,  they  give  way  to  despair ; 
But  let  them  reflect,  "  There  are  fish — and  no  doubt  on't — 
As  good  in  the  river  as  ever  came  out  on't !" 

Should  they  light  on  a  spouse  who  is  given  to  roaming 

In  solitude, — raison  de  plus,  in  the  "  gloaming," — 

Let  them  have  a  fixed  time  for  said  spouse  to  come  home  in ! 

And  if,  when  "  last  dinner-bell "  's  rung,  he  is  late, 

To  insure  better  manners  in  future — don't  wait ! 

If  of  husband  or  children  they  chance  to  be  fond. 
Have  a  stout  iron- wire  fence  put  all  round  the  pond ! 

One  more  piece  of  advice,  and  I  close  my  appeals — 
That  is — if  you  chance  to  be  partial  to  eels, 
Then — Crede  experto — trust  one  who  has  tried — 
Have  them  spitch-cocked — or  stewed — they're  too  oily  when 
fried! 


534  THE  HOUSE-WARMING. 

A  LEGEND  OF  BLEEDING-HEART  YARD. 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  Devil  dance?" — Old  Query. 

SIR  CHRISTOPHER  HATTON  he  danced  with  grace, 
He'd  a  very  fine  form  and  a  very  fine  face, 
And  his  cloak  and  his  doublet  were  guarded  with  lace. 

And  the  rest  of  his  clothes,     As  you  well  may  suppose, 
In  taste  were  by  no  means  inferior  to  those ; 

He'd  a  yellow-starched  ruflT,     And  his  gloves  were  of  buff, 
On  each  of  his  shoes  a  red  heel  and  a  rose. 
And  nice  little  moustaches  under  his  nose  ; 

Then  every  one  knows     How  he  turned  out  his  toes. 
And  a  very  great  way  that  accomplishment  goes. 
In  a  Court  where  it's  thought,  in  a  lord  or  a  duke,  a 
Disgrace  to  fall  short  in  "  the  Brawls"  (their  Cachouca). 
So  what  with  his  form  and  what  with  his  face, 
And  what  with  his  velvet  cloak  guarded  with  lace, 
And  what  with  his  elegant  dancing  and  grace, 

His  dress  and  address    So  tickled  Queen  Bess 
That  her  Majesty  gave  him  a  very  snug  place  ; 
And  seeing,  moreover,  at  one  single  peep,  her 
Advisers  were,  few  of  them,  sharper  or  deeper 
(Old  Burleigh  excepted),  she  made  him  Lord  Keeper! 

I've  heard,  I  confess  with  no  little  surprise, 
English  history  called  a  farrago  of  lies ; 

And  a  certain  Divine,     A  connection  of  riline. 
Who  ought  to  know  better,  as  some  folks  opine, 

Is  apt  to  declare.     Leaning  back  in  his  chair. 
With  a  sort  of  a  smirking,  self-satisfied  air. 
That  "  all  that's  recorded  in  Hume  and  elsewhere. 

Of  our  early  '  Annales'     A  trumpery  tale  is, 
Like  the   'Bold   Captain   Smith's,'  and   the   'Luckless   Miss 
Bay  ley's'— 


< 


A   LEGEND    OF  BLEEDING-HEART  YARD.  535 

That  old  Roger  Hovedon,  and  Ralph  de  Diceto, 
And  others  (whose  names  should  I  try  to  repeat  o- 
ver,  I'm  well  assured  you  would  put  in  your  veto), 

Though  all  holy  friars,     Were  very  great  liars, 
And  raised  stories  faster  than  Grissell  and  Peto — 
That  Harold  escaped  with  the  loss  of  a  '  glim ' — 
That    the    shaft  which   killed   Rufus   ne'er  glanced   from   a 

limb 
Of  a  tree,  as  they  say,  but  was  aimed  slap  at  him — 
That  Fair  Rosamond  never  was  poisoned  or  spitted, 
But  outlived  Queen  Nell,  who  was  much  to  be  pitied — 
That  Nelly  her  namesake,  Ned  Longshanks's  wife. 
Ne'er  went  crusading  at  all  in  her  life, 
Nor  sucked  the  wound  made  by  the  poison-tipped  knife  I 

For  as  she     O'er  the  sea. 
Towards  fair  Galilee, 
Never,  even  in  fancy,  marched  carcass  or  shook  shanks. 
Of  course  she  could  no  more  suck  Longshanks  than  Cruik- 

shanks ; 
But,  leaving  her  spindle-legged  liege  lord  to  roam. 
Stayed  behind,  and  sucked  something  better  at  home — 

That  it's  quite  as  absurd 

To  say  Edward  the  Third, 
In  reviving  the  Garter,  afforded  a  handle 
For  any  Court-gossip,  detraction,  or  scandal, 

As  'twould  be  to  say     That  at  Court  t'other  day, 
At  the  f^te  which  the  newspapers  say  was  so  gay. 
His  Great  Representative  then  stole  away 
Lady  Salisbury's  garters  as  part  of  the  play. — 
— Then  as  to  Prince  Hal's  being  taken  to  jail. 
By  th^  London  Police,  without  mainprize  or  bail. 

For  cuffing  a  judge.     It's  a  regular  fudge ; 
And  that  Chief-Justice  Gascoigne,  it's  very  well  known. 
Was  kicked  out  the  moment  he  came  to  the  throne. — 
— Then   that   Richard  the   Third  was  a  '  marvellous   proper 

man' — 
Never  killed,  injured,  or  wronged  of  a  copper,  man ! — 

Ne'er  wished  to  smother     The  sons  of  his  brother, — 
Nor  ever  stuck  Harry  the  Sixth,  who,  instead 


536  THE  HOUSE-WARMING. 

Of  being  squabaslicd,  us  in  Shakspeare  we've  read, 

Caught  a  bad  iutiueuza,  and  died  iu  his  bed, 

In  the  Tower,  not  far  from  the  room  where  the  Guard  is 

(The  octagon  one  that  adjoins  DufFus  Hardy's). 

— Tliat,  in  short,  all  the  '  iiacts '  in  the  Decern  Scriptores 

Are  nothing  at  all  but  sheer  humbugging  stories." 

Then  if,  as  he  vows,  both  this  country  and  France  in, 
Historians  thus  gave  themselves  up  to  romancing, 
Notwithstanding  what  most  of  them  join  in  advancing 
Respecting  Sir  Christopher's  capering  and  prancing, 

'Twill  cause  no  surprise     If  we  find  that  his  rise 
Is  not  to  be  solely  ascribed  to  his  dancing ! 
The  fact  is,  Sir  Christopher,  early  in  life. 
As  all  bachelors  should  do,  had  taken  a  wife, 
A  Fanshawe  by  family, — one  of  a  house 
Well  descended,  but  boasting  less  "nobles"  than  nous; 

Though  e'en  as  to  purse     He  might  have  done  worse, 
For  I  find,  on  perusing  her  Grandfather's  will,  it  is 
Clear  she  had  "  good  gifts  beside  possibilities,"  * 

Owches  and  rings.     And  such  sort  of  things, 
Orellana  shares  (then  the  American  Stocks), 
Jewelled  stomachers,  coifs,  ruffs,  silk  stockings  with  clocks, 
Point-lace,  cambric  handkerchiefs,  nightcaps,  and — socks 
(Recondite  apparel  contained  in  her  box). 

— Then  the  height  of  her  breeding     And  depth  of  her 
reading 
Might  captivate  any  gay  youth,  and,  in  leading 
Him  on  "  to  propose,"  well  excuse  the  proceeding ! 
Truth  to  tell,  as  to  "  reading,"  the  Lady  was  thought  to  do 
More  than  she  should,  and  know  more  than  she  ought  to  do ; 

Her  maid,  it  was  said.     Declared  that  she  read 
(A  custom  all  staid  folks  discourage)  in  bed ; 

And  that  often  o'  nights,     Odd  noises  and  sights 
In  her  mistress's  chamber  had  giv'n  her  sad  frights. 
After  all  in  the  mansion  had  put  out  their  lights. 


*  "  Seven  hundred  pounds  and  possibilities  is  good  gifts." 

Sir  Hugh  Evans. 


A  LEGEND   OF  BLEEDING-HEART  YARD.  537 

And  she  verily  thought  that  hobgoblins  and  sprites 

Were  there,  kicking  up  all  sorts  of  devil's  delights ! — 

Miss  Alice,  in  short,  was  supposed  to  "  collogue  " — I 

Don't  much  like  the  word — with  the  subtle  old  rogue  I 

've  heard  called  by  so  many  names — one  of  them's  "  Bogy  " — 

Indeed,  'twas  conceived,     And  by  most  folks  believed, 
— A  thing  at  which  all  of  her  well-wishers  grieved — 
That  should  she  incline  to  play  such  a  vagary, 
Like  sage  Lady  Brauxholm,  her  contempo-rary 
(Excuse  the  false  quantity,  reader,  I  pray), 
She  could  turn  a  knight  into  a  wagon  of  hay. 
Or  two  nice  little  boys  into  puppies  at  play. 
liaison  de  phis,  not  a  doubt  could  exist  of  her 
Power  to  turn  "  Kit  Hatton"  into  "  Sir  Christopher;" 
But  what  "  mighty  magic,"  or  strong  "  conjuration," 
Whether  love-powder,  philtre,  or  other  potation. 

She  used,  I  confess     I'm  unable  to  guess, — 

Much  less  to  express     By  what  skill  and  address 
She  "  cut  and  contrived"  with  such  signal  success. 
As  we  Londone:^  say,  to  "  inwiggle "  Queen  Bess, 

Inasmuch  as  I  lack  heart    To  study  the  Black  Art. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  it's  as  clear  as  the  sun 
That,  however  she  did  it,  'twas  certainly  done ! 

Now,  they're  all  very  well,  titles,  honor,  and  rank, 
Still  we  can't  but  admit,  if  we  choose  to  be  frank, 
There's  no  harm  in  a  snug  little  sum  in  the  Bank ! 

An  old  proverb  says,     "  Pudding  still  before  praise !" 
An  adage  well  known,  I've  no  doubt,  in  those  days ; 
And  George  Colman  the  Younger,  in  one  of  his  plays, 
Makes  one  of  his  characters  loudly  declare 
That  " a  Lord  without  money" — I  quote  from  his  " Heir- 
at-Law  " — "  's  but  a  poor  wishy-washy  affair ;" — 
In  her  subsequent  conduct  I  think  we  can  see  a 
Strong  proof  the  Dame  entertained  some  such  idea, 

For,  once  in  the  palace.     We  find  Lady  Alice 
Again  playing  tricks  with  her  Majesty's  chalice 

In  the  way  that  the  jocose,  in 

Our  days,  term  "  hocussing ;" 


538  THE  House-warming. 

The  liquor  she  used,  as  I've  said,  she  kept  close, 
But,  whatever  it  was,  she  now  doubled  the  dose ! 

(So  true  is  the  saying,     "  We  never  can  stay,  in 
Our  progress,  when  once  with  the  foul  fiend  we  league  us.") 
— She  "  doctored  "  the  punch,  and  she  "  doctored  "  the  negus, 
Taking  care  not  to  put  in  sufiicient  to  flavor  it. 

Till,  at  every  fresh  sip     That  moistened  her  lip. 
The  Virgin  Queen  grew  more  attached  to  her  Favorite. 

"  No  end"  now  he  commands     Of  money  and  lands, 
And,  as  George  Robins  says,  when  he's  writing  about  houses, 
"  Messuages,  tenements,  crofts,  tofts,  and  outhouses," 
Parks,  manors,  chases,  she  "  gives  and  she  grants. 
To  him  and  his  heirs,  and  his  uncles  and  aunts ;" 
Whatever  he  wants,  he  has  only  to  ask  it, 
And  all  other  suitors  are  "  left  in  the  basket," 

Till  Dudley  and  Rawleigh     Began  to  look  squally, 
While  even  grave  Cecil,  the  famous  Lord  Burleigh, 
Himself,  "  shook  his  head,"  and  grew  snappish  and  surly. 

All  this  was  fine  sport.     As  our  authors  report. 
To  Dame  Alice,  become  a  great  Lady  at  Court, 
Where  none  than  her  Ladyship's  husband  looked  bigger. 
Who  "  led  the  brawls  "  *  still  with  the  same  grace  and  vigor. 
Though  losing  a  little  in  slimness  and  figure ; 
For  eating  and  drinking  all  day  of  the  best 

Of  viands  well  drest,     With  "  Burgess's  Zest," 
Is  apt,  by  degrees,  to  enlarge  a  man's  vest ; 
And,  what  in  Sir  Christopher  went  to  increase  it,  he 
'd  always  been  rather  inclined  to  obesity ; 
— Few  men  in  those  times  were  found  to  grow  thinner 
With  beefsteaks  for  breakfast  and  pork-pie  for  dinner. 

Now  it's  really  a  difficult  problem  to  say 

How  long  matters  might  have  gone  on  in  this  way, 

If  it  had  not  unluckily  happened  one  day 

That  Nick, — who,  because    He'd  the  gout  in  his  claws 
And  his  hoofs  (he's  by  no  means  so  young  as  he  was, 


*  "  The  grave  Lord  Keeper  led  the  brawls, 

The  seals  and  maces  danced  before  him."— Gray. 


A   LEGEND   OF  BLEEDING-HEART  YARD.  539 

And  is  subject  of  late  to  a  sort  of  rheumatic  a- 

ttack  that  partakes  both  of  gout  and  sciatica), — 

All  the  night  long  had  twisted  and  grinned, 

His  pains  much  increased  by  an  easterly  wind, 

Which  always  compels  him  to  hobble  and  limp, 

Was  strongly  advised  by  his  medical  Imp 

To  lie  by  a  little,  and  give  over  work, 

For  he'd  lately  been  slaving  away  like  a  Turk, 

On  the  Guinea-coast,  helping  to  open  a  brave  trade 

In  niggers,  with  Hawkins*  who  founded  the  slave-trade ; 

So  he  called  for  his  ledger,  the  constant  resource 

Of  your  mercantile  folk  when  they're  "  not  in  full  force :" 

— If  a  cold  or  catarrh  makes  them  husky  and  hoarse. 

Or  a  touch  of  gout  keeps  them  away  from  "  the  Bourse," 

They  look  over  their  books  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Now  scarce  had  Nick  turned  over  one  page  or  two. 

Ere  a  prominent  item  attracted  bis  view, 

A  Bill !  that  had  now  been  some  days  overdue, 

From  one  Alice  Hatton,  nee  Fanshawe — a  name 

Which  you'll  recognize,  reader,  at  once  as  the  same 

With  that  borne  by  Sir  Christopher's  erudite  dame ! 

The  signature — much  more  prononce  than  pink — 

Seemed  written  in  blood — but  it  might  be  red  ink — 

While  the  rest  of  the  deed    He  proceeded  to  read. 
Like  ev'ry  "bill,  bond,  or  acquittance"  whose  date  is 
Three  hundred  years  old,  ran  in  Latin, — "Sdatis 
(Diaboli  /)  omnes  ad  quos  hcec  pervenient — " 
— But  courage,  dear  Reader,  I  mean  to  be  lenient, 
And  scorn  to  inflict  on  you  half  the  "  Law-reading" 
I  picked  up  "umquhile"  in  three  days'  special  pleading, 
Which  cost  me — a  theme  I'll  not  pause  to  digress  on — 
Just  thirty-three  pounds  six-and-eightpence  a  lesson — 
"As  I'm  stout,  I'll  be  merciful,"  therefore,  and  sparing 
All  these  technicalities,  end  by  declaring 

The  Deed  so  correct     As  to  make  one  suspect 


*  Sir  John  "Hawkins,  for  "  his  worthye  attempts  and  services,"  and  because  in  the 
same  he  had  dy vers  conflights  with  the  Moryans  and  slew  and  toke  dyversof  the  same 
Moryans,  "  received  from  Elizabeth  an  honorable  augmentation  to  his  coat  armor,  in- 
cluding, for  his  cresti  A  Bemv-Moor  sable,  wilh  two  manacles  on  each  arm,  or." 


640  THE  nOUSE-WARMINO. 

("Were  it  possible  any  such  person  could  go  there) 

Old  Nick  luul  u  Special  Attorney  below  there : 

'Twas  i^o  framed  and  expressed  no  tribunal  could  shake  it, 

And  firm  as  red  wax  and  black  ferret  could  make  it. 

By  the  roll  of  his  eye    As  Old  Nick  put  it  by, 
It  was  clear  he  had  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do 
In  respect  to  the  course  he  should  have  to  pursue, 
When  his  hoof  would  allow  him  to  put  on  a  shoe ! ! 

Now,  although  the  Lord  Keeper  held  under  the  crown  house 
And  land  in  the  country,  he'd  never  a  Town-house, 

And,  as  we  have  seen.    His  course  always  had  been. 
When  he  wanted  a  thing,  to  solicit  the  Queen, 
So  now,  in  the  hoj^e  of  a  fresh  acquisition, 
He  danced  off  to  Court  with  his  "  Humble  Petition," 

"  Please  your  Majesty's  Grace,     I  have  not  a  place 
I  can  well  put  my  head  in,  to  dine,  sup,  or  sleep ! 
Your  Grace's  Lord  Keeper  has  nowhere  to  heep, 

So  I  beg  and  entreat.     At  your  Majesty's  feet, 
That  your  Grace  will  be  graciously  pleased  for  to  say, 

With  as  little  delay     As  your  Majesty  may. 
Where  your  Majesty's  Grace's  Lord  Keeper's  to  stay — 
— And  your  Grace's  Petitioner  ever  will  pray !" 

The  Queen,  when  she  heard     This  petition  preferred, 
Gave  ear  to  Sir  Christopher's  suit  at  a  word ; — 
"  Odds  Bobs,  my  good  Lord !"  was  her  gracious  reply, 

"  I  don't  know,  not  I,     Any  good  reason  why 
A  Lord  Keeper,  like  you,  should  not  always  be  nigh 
To  advise — and  devise — and  revise — our  supply — 
A  House  I  we're  surprised  that  the  thing  did  not  strike 
Us  before — Yes ! — of  course  ! — Pray  whose  House  would  you 

like? 
When  I  do  things  of  this  kind,  I  do  them  genteelly. 
A  House? — let  me  see !  there's  the  Bishop  of  Ely ! 
A  capital  mansion,  I'm  told,  the  proud  knave  is  in, 
Up  there  in  Holborn,  just  opposite  Thavies'  Inn — 


A   LEGEND    OF  BLEEDING-HEART   YARD.  541 

Where  the  strawberries  grow  so  fine  and  so  big, 
Which  our  Grandmother's  Uncle  tucked  in  like  a  pig, 
King  Richard  the  Third,  which  you  all  must  have  read  of — 
The  day, — don't  you  know  ? — he  cut  Hastings'  head  off — 
And  mark  me,  proud  Prelate ! — I'm  speaking  to  you, 
Bishop  Heaton  ! — you  need  not,  my  Lord,  look  so  blue — 
Give  it  up  on  the  instant !     I  don't  mean  to  shock  you, 

Or  else,  by ! — (the  Bishop  was  shocked  !) — I'll   unfrock 

you!!" 

The  Queen  turns  abruptly  her  back  on  the  group, 
The  courtiers  all  bow  as  she  passes,  and  stoop 
To  kiss,  as  she  goes,  the  hind  flounce  of  her  hoop. 
And  Sir  Christopher,  having  thus  danced  to  some  tune, 
Skips  away  with  much  glee  in  his  best  rigadoon  ! 

While  poor  Bishop  Heaton,     Who  found  himself  beaten, 
In  serious  alarm  at  the  Queen's  contumelious 
And  menacing  tone,  at  once  gave  him  up  Ely  House, 
With  every  appurtenance  thereto  belonging, 
Including  the  strawberry-beds  'twas  so  strong  in ; 
Politely  he  bowed  to  the  gratified  minion. 
And  said,  "  There  can  be,  my  good  Lord,  in  opinion 

No  difference  betwixt  yours     And  mine  as  to  fixtures, 
And  tables,  and  chairs —     We  need  no  survey'rs — 
Take  them  just  as  you  find  them,  without  reservation, 
Grates,  coppers,  and  all,  at  your  own  valuation !" 

Well !  the  object  is  gained !    A  good  town-house  obtained ! 
The  next  thing  to  be  thought  of,  is  now 
The  "house-warming"  party — the  rvhen  and  the  hoiv, — 

The  Court  ladies  call.     One  and  all,  great  and  small, 
For  an  elegant  "  Spread,"  and  more  elegant  Ball, 
So,  Sir  Christopher,  vain  as  we  know  of  his  capering. 
No  sooner  had  finished  his  painting  and  papering, 

Thau  he  sat  down  and  wrote    A  nice  little  pink  note 
To  every  great  Lord  whom  he  knew,  and  his  spouse, 
"  From  our  poor  place  on  Holborn  Hill  (late  Ely  House), 
Lord  Keeper  and  Dame  Alice  Hatton  request 
Lord  So-and-So's  (name,  style,  or  title  exprest) 


k 


642  THE  HOUSE-WARMING. 

Good  company  ou     The  next  eve  of  St.  John, 
Viz.  Friday  week,  June  24th,  as  their  guest. 

To  partake  of  pot-luck,     And  taste  a  fat  buck. 
N.  B.  Venison  on  table  exactly  at  3, 
Quadrilles  in  the  afternoon. 

R.  S.  V.  P. 

"  For  my  good  Lord  of  So-and-So  these,  and  his  wife ; 

Ride !  ride !  for  thy  life !  for  thy  life !  for  thy  life !" 

Thus  courtiers  were  wont  to  indorse  their  expresses 

In  Harry  the  Vlllth's  time,  and  also  Queen  Bess's. 

The  Dame,  for  her  part,  too,  took  order  that  cards 

Should  be  sent  to  the  mess-rooms  of  all  the  Hussards, 

The  Household  troops,  Train-bands,  and  horse  and  foot  Guards. 

Well,  the  day  for  the  rout     At  length  came  about, 
And  the  bells  of  St.  Andrew's  rang  merrily  out, 
As  horse-litter,  coach,  and  pad-nag  with  its  pillion 
(The  mode  of  conveyance  then  used  by  "  the  Million  "), 

All  gallant  and  grand.     Defiled  from  the  Strand, 
Some  through  Chancery  (then  an  unpaved  and  much  wetter) 

Lane, 
Others  through  Shoe  (which  was  not  a  whit  better)  Lane ; 
Others  through  Fewtar's  (corrupted  to  Fetter)  Lane, 
Some  from  Cheapside  and  St.  Mary-le-Bow, 
From  Bishopsgate  Street,  Dowgate  Hill,*  and  Budge  Row. 

They  come  and  they  go. 

Squire  and  Dame,  Belle  and  Beau, 
Down  Snore  Hill  (which  we  have  since  whitewashed  to  Snow), 
All  eager  to  see  the  magnificent  show, 
And  sport  what  some  call  "  a  fantastical  toe ;" 

In  silk  and  in  satin,     To  batten  and  fatten 
Upon  the  good  cheer  of  Sir  Christopher  Hatton. 

A  flourish,  trumpets ! — sound  again ! 

He  comes,  bold  Drake,  the  chief  who  made  a 
Fine  hash  of  all  the  pow'rs  of  Spain, 

And  so  served  out  their  Grand  Armada : 

*  Sir  Francis  Drake's  house,  "The  Aibor,"  stood  here. 


A   LEGEND    OF  BLEEDING-HEART   YARD.  543 

With  him  come  Frobisher  and  Hawkins, 
In  yellow  ruffs,  rosettes,  and  stockings. 

Room  for  my  Lord ! — proud  Leicester's  Earl 

Retires  awhile  from  courtly  cares, 
Who  took  his  wife,  poor  hapless  girl. 

And  pitched  her  neck  and  heels  down  stairs, 
Proving,  in  hopes  to  wed  a  richer. 
If  not  her  "  friend,"  at  least  her  "  pitcher.',\^ 

A  flourish,  trumpets !  strike  the  drums ! 

Will  Shakspeare,  never  of  his  pen  sick, 
Is  here — next  Doctor  Masters  comes, 

Renowned  afar  for  curing  men  sick, — 
Queen's  Serjeant  Barham*  with  his  bums 

And  tipstaves,  coif,  and  wig  forensic 
(He  lost,  unless  Sir  Richard  lies,  his 
Life  at  the  famous  "  Black  Assizes"). 

Room !  Room !  for  great  Cecil — place,  place,  for  his  Dame ! 
Room !  Room !  for  Southampton — for  Sidney,  whose  name 
As  a  Prexix  Chevalier,  in  the  records  of  Fame, 
"  Beats  Banagher" — e'en  now  his  praises,  we  all  sing  'em, 
Knight,  Poet,  Gentleman ! — Room !  for  sage  Walsingham ! 

Room !  for  Lord  Hunsdoiji ! — for  Sussex ! — for  Rawleigh ! — 
For  Ingoldsby  ! !     Oh !  it's  enough  to  appall  ye ! 

Dear  me !  how  they  call !    How  they  squall !  how  they  bawl  I 
This  dame  has  lost  her  shoe — that  one  her  shawl — 
My  lord's  got  a  tumble — my  lady  a  fall ! 

Now  a  Hall !  a  Hall!     A  Brawl !  a  Brawl ! 
Here's  my  Lord-Keeper  Hatton,  so  stately  and  tall. 
Has  led  out  Lady  Hunsdon  to  open  the  Ball. 

Fiddlers !  Fiddlers !  fiddle  away ! 
Resin  your  catgut !  fiddle  and  play ! 
A  roundelay !     Fiddle  away ! 

*  Called  by  Sir  Eichard  Baker  "  The  famous  Lawyer."    See  his  Chronicle. 


644  THE  nOUSE-WARMINO. 

Obey !  obey ! — hear  what  they  all  say ! 

Hip !— Music  !— Nosey ! ! — play  up  there ! — play ! 

Kcvcr  was  anything  half  so  gay 

As  Sir  Christopher  Hatton's  grand  holiday ! 

The  clock  strikes  twelve !— Who  cares  for  the  clock  ? 

AVho  cares  for Hark ! — What  a  loud  Single-knock ! 

Dear  me !  dear  me !     Who  can  it  be  ? — 
Why,  who  can  be  coming  at  this  time  of  night, 
With  a  knock  like  that  honest  folk  to  affright  ? — 
"  AfiVight  ?" — yes,  affright ! — there  are  many  who  mock 
At  fear,  and  in  danger  stand  firm  as  a  rock. 
Whom  the  roar  of  the  battle-field  never  could  shock. 
Yet  quail  at  the  sound  of  a  vile  "  Single-knock !" 
Hark  ! — what  can  the  Porter  be  thinking  of? — What ! — 
If  the  booby  has  not  let  him  in  I'll  be  shot ! — 

Dear  me !  how  hot     The  room's  all  at  once  got ! — 
And  what  rings  through  the  roof? —  It's  the  sound  of  a  huoj! 
It's  some  donkey  a-coming  up  stairs  at  full  trot ! 
Stay  ! — the  folding-doors  open !  the  leaves  are  thrown  back, 
And  in  dances  a  tall  Figurant — all  in  black  ! ! 

Gracious  me,  what  an  entrechat !     Oh,  what  a  bound ! 
Then  with  what  an  a-plomb  he  comes  down  to  the  ground ! 

Look  there !  look  there !     Now  he's  up  in  the  air ! 
Now  he's   here! — Now  he's    there — now  he's   no  one   knows 

where ! — 
See !  see ! — he's  kicked  over  a  table  and  chair ! 
There  they  go ! — all  the  strawberries,  flowers,  and  sweet  herbs. 

Turned  o'er  and  o'er,     Down  on  the  floor ; 
Ev'ry  caper  he  cuts  oversets  or  disturbs 
All  the  "  Keen's  Seedlings,"  and  "  Wilmot's  Superbs !" 

There's  a  pirouette  ! — we're    All  a  great  deal  too  near ! 
A  ring ! — give  him  room,  or  he'll  "  shin  "  you — stand  clear ! 
There's  a  spring  again  ! — oh  !  'tis  quite  frightful ! — oh  dear ! 
His  toe's  broke  the  top  of  the  glass  chandelier ! ! 
Now  he's  down  again — look  at  the  congees  and  bows 
And  salaams  which  he  makes  to  the  Dame  of  the  House, 
Lady  Alice,  the  noble  Lord  Treasurer's  spouse ! 


A   LEGEND    OF  BLEEDING-HEART   YARD.  545 

Come,  now  we  shall  view     A  grand  pas  de  deiuv 
Performed  in  the  very  first  style  by  these  two ; — 
— But  no ! — she  recoils — she  could  scarce  look  more  pale  if 
Instead  of  a  Beau's  'twas  the  bow  of  a  Bailiff! — 
He  holds  out  his  hand — she  declines  it,  and  draws 
Back  her  own — see ! — he  grasps  it  with  horrid  black  claws, 
Like  the  short,  sharp,  strong  nails  of  a  Polar  Bear's  paws ! ! 

Then  she  "  screamed  such  a  scream !"   Such  another,  I  deem, 
As,  long  after.  Miss  Mary  Brown  *  screamed  in  her  dream. 
"Well  she  might !  for  'twas  shrewdly  remarked  by  her  Page, 
A  sharp  little  boy  about  twelve  years  of  age, 

Who  was  standing  close  by     When  she  uttered  her  cry, 
That  the  whole  of  her  arm  shrivelled  up,  and  grew  dry. 
While  the  fingers  and  thumb  of  the  hand  he  had  got 
In  his  clutches  became  on  the  instant  red  hot  ! ! 

Now  he  whirls  and  he  twirls     Through  the  girls  in  their 
curls. 
And  their  rouge,  and  their  feathers,  and  diamonds,  and  pearls ; 

Now  high, — now  low, —    Now  fast,  and  now  slow, 
In  terrible  circumgyration  they  go — 
The  flame-colored  Belle  and  her  coffee-faced  Beau ! 

Up  they  go  once !  and  up  they  go  twice ! — 
Bound  the  hall ! — round  the  hall ! — and  now  up  they  go  thrice ! 
Now  one  grand  pirouette,  the  performance  to  crown ! 
Now  again  they  go  up  ! — and  they  never  come  down  ! ! ! 


The  thunder  roars !     And  the  rain  it  pours ! 
And  the  lightning  comes  in  through  the  windows  and  doors ! 
Then   more   calling,  and   bawling,     And   squalling,  and 
falling. 
Oh !  what  a  fearful  "  stramash  "  they  are  all  in ! 

Out  they  all  sally.     The  whole  corps  de  ballet — 
Some  dash  down  Holborn  Hill  into  the  valley, 

*  Vide  the  celebrated  ballad  of  "  Giles  Scroggins ;"  Catnach's  ed.,  7  Dials,  Load.  1841. 
35 


546  THE  HOUSE-WARMING. 

Whore  stagnates  Fleet  Ditch  at  the  end  of  Harp  Alley ; 

Some  t'other  way,  with  a  speed  quite  amazing, 

Nor  pause  to  take  breath  till  they  get  beyond  Gray's  Inn. 

In  every  sense  of  the  word,  such  a  rout  of  it 

Never  was  made  in  London,  or  out  of  it ! 


When  they  came  the  next  day  to  examine  the  scene. 

There  was  scarcely  a  vestige  of  all  that  had  been ; 

The  beautiful  tapestry,  blue,  red,  and  green, 

Was    all    blackened    and    scorched,   and    looked    dirty   and 

mean. 
All  the  crockery  broken,  dish,  plate,  and  tureen ! 
Wliile  those  who  looked  up  could  perceive  in  the  roof 
One  very  large  hole  in  the  shape  of  a  hoof! 

Of  poor  Lady  Hatton,  it's  needless  to  say, 
No  traces  have  ever  been  found  to  this  day, 
Or  the  terrible  dancer  who  whisked  her  away ; 
But  out  in  the  courtyard — and  just  in  that  part 
Where    the   pump    stands — lay  bleeding   a    large    Human 
Heart, 

And  sundry  large  stains     Of  blood  and  of  brains, 
Which  had  not  been  washed  off,  notwithstanding  the  rains. 
Appeared  on  the  wood,  and  the  handle  and  chains. 
As  if  somebody's  head,  with  a  very  hard  thump, 
Had  been  recently  knocked  on  the  top  of  the  pump. 
That  pump  is  no  more, — that  of  which  you've  just  read, — 
But  they've  put  a  new  iron  one  up  in  its  stead, 

And  still,  it  is  said,     At  that  "  small  hour  "  so  dread, 
When  all  sober  people  are  cozy  in  bed. 
There  may  sometimes  be  seen  on  a  moonshiny  night, 
Standing  close  by  the  new  pump,  a  Lady  in  White, 
AVho    keeps    pumping    away    with,    'twould    seem,    all    her 

might. 
Though  never  a  drop  comes  her  pains  to  requite ! 
And  hence  many  passengers  now  are  debarred 
From     proceeding     at     nightfall     through     Bleeding-Heart 
Yard! 


A   LEGEND    OF  BLEEDING-HEART  YARD.  547 


MORAL. 

Fair  Ladies,  attend !      And  if  you've  a  "  friend 
At  Court,"  don't  attempt  to  bamboozle  or  trick  her ! — 
Don't  meddle  with  negus,  or  any  mixed  liquor ! — 
Don't  dabble  in  "  Magic  " ! — my  story  has  shown 
How  wrong  'tis  to  use  any  charms  but  your  own ! 

Young  Gentlemen,  too,  may,  I  think,  take  a  hint 

Of  the  same  kind,  from  what  I've  here  ventured  to  print. 

All  conjuring's  bad !  they  may  get  in  a  scrape 

Before  they're  aware,  and  whatever  its  shape, 

They  may  find  it  no  easy  affair  to  escape. 

It's  not  everybody  that  comes  off  so  well 

From  legerdemain  tricks  as  Mr.  Brunei. 

Don't  dance  with  a  stranger  who  looks  like  a  Guy ! 
And  when  dancing,  don't  cut  your  capers  too  high  ! 

Depend  on't,  the  fault's  in      Your  method  of  waltzing, 
If  ever  you  kick  out  the  candles ; — don't  try  ! 

At  a  ball  or  a  play.      Or  any  soiree, 
When  a  petit  souper  constitutes  the  Apres, 
If  strawb'ries  and  cream  with  Champagne  form  a  part. 
Take  care  of  your  Head — and  take  care  of  your  Heart  ! 

If  you  want  a  new  house      For  yourself  and  your  spouse, 
Buy  or  build  one — and  honestly  pay,  every  brick,  for  it ! 
Don't  be  so  green  as  to  go  to  Old  Nick  for  it ! 
— Go  to  George  Robins :  he'll  find  you  a  "  perch  " 
(Duke  Domum's  his  word)  without  robbing  the  Church.  • 

The  last  piece  of  advice  which  I'd  have  you  regard 

Is,  Don't  go  of  a  night  into  Bleeding-Heart  Yard ; 

It's  a  dark  little,  dirty,  black,  ill-looking  square, 

With  queer  people  about ;  and  unless  you  take  care. 

You  may  find,  when  your  pocket's  cleaned  out  and  left  bare, 

That  the  iron  one  is  not  the  only  " Pump"  there! 


548  THE  FORLORN  ONE. 


^t)f  jfotlotn  C^ne. 

AH !  why  those  piteous  sounds  of  woe, 
Lone  wanderer  of  the  dreary  night  ? 
Thy  gushing  tears  in  torrents  flow, 
Thy  bosom  pants  in  wild  affright ! 

And  thou,  within  whose  iron  breast 
Those  frowns  austere  too  truly  tell, 

Mild  pity,  heaven-descended  guest, 
Hath  never,  never  deigned  to  dwell, — 


"  That  rude,  uncivil  touch  forego," 
Stern  despot  of  a  fleeting  hour ! 

Nor  "  make  the  angels  Aveep  "  to  know 
The  fond  "  fantastic  tricks  "  of  power ! 

Know'st  thou  not  "  mercy  is  not  strained, 
But  droppeth  as  the  gentle  dew," 

And  while  it  blesseth  him  who  gained, 
It  blesseth  him  who  gave  it  too  ? 

Say,  what  art  thou  ?  and  what  is  he, 
Pale  victim  of  despair  and  pain, 

Whose  streaming  eyes  and  bended  knee 
Sue  to  thee  thus — and  sue  in  vain  ? 


Cold,  callous  man  !  he  scorns  to  yield, 

Or  aught  relax  his  felon  gripe, 
But  answers,  "  I'm  Inspector  Field  ! 

And  this  here  warment's  prigged  your  wipe !" 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  WEALD    OF  KENT.  549 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  WEALD  OF  KENT. 

"  The  wig's  the  thing !  the  wig !  the  wig !" — Old  Song, 

"  ~rOE,"  said  old  Jarvis,  looking  out  of  his  window — it  was 
^  his  ground-floor  back — "  Joe,  you  seem  to  be  very  hot, 
Joe,  and  you  have  got  no  wig !" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  quoth  Joseph,  pausing  and  resting  upon  his  spade, 
"  it's  as  hot  a  day  as  ever  I  see ;  but  the  celery  must  be  got  in, 
or  there'll  be  no  autumn  crop,  and — " 

"  Well,  but,  Joe,  the  sun's  so  hot,  and  it  shines  so  on  your 
bald  head,  it  makes  one  wink  to  look  at  it.  You'll  have  a 
coup  de  soleil,  Joe." 

"A  wAa^,  sir?" 

"  No  matter :  it's  very  hot  working,  and  if  you'll  step  in 
doors,  I'll  give  you — " 

"  Thank  ye,  your  honor ;  a  drop  of  beer  will  be  very  accept- 
able." 

Joe's  countenance  brightened  amazingly. 

"  Joe,  I'll  give  you — my  old  wig !" 

The  countenance  of  Joseph  fell.  His  gray  eye  had  glistened 
as  a  blest  vision  of  double  X  flitted  athwart  his  fancy ;  its 
glance  faded  again  into  the  old  filmy,  gooseberry-colored  hue, 
as  he  growled  in  a  minor  key,  "  A  wig,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  Joe,  a  wig.  The  man  who  does  not  study  the  comfort 
of  his  dependents  is  an  unfeeling  scoundrel.  You  shall  have 
my  old  wornout  wig." 

"  I  hope,  sir,  you'll  give  me  a  drop  o'  beer  to  drink  your 
honor's  health  in ;  it  is  very  hot,  and — " 

"  Come  in,  Joe,  and  Mrs.  Witherspoon  shall  give  it  you." 

"  Heaven  bless  your  honor !"  said  honest  Joe,  striking  his 
spade  perpendicularly  into  the  earth,  and  walking  with  more 
than  usual  alacrity  towards  the  close-cut  quickset  hedge  which 
separated  Mr.  Jarvis's  garden  from  the  high-road. 

From  the  quickset  hedge  aforesaid  he  now  raised,  with  all 
due  delicacy,  a  well-worn  and  somewhat  dilapidated  jacket,  of 


550  JERRY  JARVIS'S  WIG. 

a  ytuir  by  drapers  most  pseuJouyinously  termed  "everlasting." 
Alack !  alufk !  what  is  tliere  to  which  tempus  edax  rerum  will 
accord  that  epithet  ?  In  its  high  and  palmy  days  it  had  been 
all  of  a  i)iece ;  but  as  its  master's  eye  now  fell  upon  it,  the  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance  seemed  to  say  with  Octavian, 

"Those  days  are  gone,  Floranthe!" 

It  was  now,  from  frequent  patching,  a  coat  not  unlike  that  of 
the  patriarch — one  of  many  colors. 

Joseph  "Washford  inserted  his  wrists  into  the  corresponding 
orifices  of  the  tattered  garment,  and  with  a  steadiness  of  cir- 
cumgyration to  be  acquired  only  by  long  and  sufficient  prac- 
tice, swung  it  horizontally  over  his  ears,  and  settled  himself 
into  it. 

"  Confound  your  old  jacket !"  cried  a  voice  from  the  other 
side  of  the  hedge ;  "  keep  it  down,  you  rascal !  don't  you  see 
my  horse  is  frightened  at  it  ?" 

"  Sensible  beast !"  apostrophized  Joseph  ;  "  I've  been  fright- 
ened at  it  myself  every  day  for  the  last  tw'o  years." 

The  gardener  cast  a  rueful  glance  at  its  sleeve,  and  pursued 
his  way  to  the  door  of  the  back  kitchen. 

"  Joe,"  said  Mrs.  Witherspoon,  a  fat,  comely  dame  of  about 
five-and-forty, — "  Joe,  your  master  is  but  too  good  to  you  ;  he 
is  always  kind  and  considerate.  Joe,  he  has  desired  me  to 
give  you  his  old  wig." 

"  And  the  beer,  Ma'am  "Witherspoon  ?"  said  Washford,  taking 
the  proffered  caxon  and  looking  at  it  with  an  expression  some- 
what short  of  rapture ;  "  and  the  beer,  ma'am  ?" 

"  The  beer,  you  guzzling  wretch  ! — what  beer  ?  Master  said 
nothing  about  no  beer.  You  ungrateful  fellow,  has  not  he 
given  you  a  w^ig  ?" 

"  Why,  yes.  Ma'am  Witherspoon ;  but  then,  you  see,  his 
honor  said  it  was  very  hot,  and  I'm  very  dry,  and — " 

"Go  to  the  pump,  sot!"  said  Mrs.  Witherspoon,  as  she 
slammed  the  back  door  in  the  face  of  the  petitioner. 

Mrs.  Witherspoon  was  "  of  the  Lady  Huntingdon  persua- 
sion," and  Honorary  Assistant  Secretary  to  the  Appledore 
branch  of  the  "  Ladies'  Grand  Junction  Water-working  Tem- 
perance Society." 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  WEALD   OF  KENT.  551 

Joe  remained  for  a  few  moments  lost  in  mental  abstraction. 
He  looked  at  the  door,  he  looked  at  the  wig ;  his  first  thought 
was  to  throw  it  into  the  pig-sty ;  his  corruption  rose,  but  lie 
resisted  the  impulse — he  got  the  better  of  Satan :  the  half- 
formed  imprecation  died  before  it  reached  his  lips.  He  looked 
disdainfully  at  the  wig.  It  had  once  been  a  comely  jasey 
enough,  of  the  color  of  overbaked  gingerbread,  one  of  the  de- 
scription commonly  known  during  the  latter  half  of  the  last 
century  by  the  name  of  a  "  brown  George."  The  species,  it  is 
to  be  feared,  is  now  extinct,  but  a  few,  a  very  few,  of  the  same 
description  might,  till  very  lately,  be  occasionally  seen, — rari 
7iantes  in  gurgite  vasto, — the  glorious  relics  of  a  bygone  day, 
crowning  the  cerebellum  of  some  venerated  and  venerable  pro- 
vost or  judge  of  assize.  But  Mr.  Jarvis's  wig  had  one  peculiar- 
ity :  unlike  most  of  its  fellows,  it  had  a  tail ! — "  cribbed  and 
confined,"  indeed,  by  a  shabby  piece  of  faded  shalloon. 

Washford  looked  at  it  again  ;  he  shook  his  bald  head.  The 
wig  had  certainly  seen  its  best  days ;  still  it  had  about  it 
somewhat  of  an  air  of  faded  gentility ;  it  was  "  like  ancient 
Rome,  majestic  in  decay," — and  as  the  small  ale  was  not  to 
be  forthcoming,  why — after  all,  an  old  wig  was  better  than 
nothing ! 

Mr.  Jeremiah  Jarvis,  of  Appledore,  in  the  Weald  of  Kent, 
was  a  gentleman  by  act  of  parliament ;  one  of  that  class  of 
gentlemen  who,  disdaining  the  bourgeoise-sounding  name  of 
"  attorney-at-law,"  are,  by  a  legal  fiction,  denominated  solicitors. 
I  say  by  a  legal  fiction,  for  surely  the  general  tenor  of  the 
intimation  received  by  such  as  enjoy  the  advantage  of  their 
correspondence  has  little  in  common  with  the  idea  usually 
attached  to  the  term  "  solicitation."  "  If  you  don't  pay  my 
bill,  and  costs,  I'll  send  you  to  jail,"  is  a  very  energetic  entreaty. 
There  are,  it  is  true,  etymologists  who  derive  their  style  and 
title  from  the  Latin  infinitive  "  solicitaire,"  to  "  make  anxious," 
— in  all  probability  they  are  right. 

If  this  be  the  true  etymology  of  his  title,  as  it  was  the  main 
end  of  his  calling,  then  was  Jeremiah  Jarvis  a  worthy  exemplar 
of  the  genus  to  which  he  belonged.  Few  persons  in  his  time 
had  created  greater  solicitude  among  his  Majesty's  lieges 
within   the   "  Weald."     He  was   rich,   of    course.     The  best 


552  JERRY  JAR  VIS'S  WIG. 

liouse  in  tlie  country-town  is  always  the  lawyer's,  and  it  gen- 
erally boasts  a  green  door,  stone  steps,  and  a  brass  knocker. 
Ill  neither  of  these  appendages  to  opulence  was  Jeremiah 
deficient;  but  then  he  was  so  very  rich:  his  reputed  wealth, 
indeed,  passed  all  the  common  modes  of  accounting  for  its 
increase.  True,  he  was  so  universally  a  favorite  that  every 
man  whose  will  he  made  was  sure  to  leave  him  a  legacy ;  that 
he  was  a  sort  of  general  assignee  to  all  the  bankruptcies  within 
twenty  miles  of  Applcdore;  was  clerk  to  half  the  "trusts," 
and  treasurer  to  most  of  the  "  rates,"  "  funds,"  and  "  subscrip- 
tions," in  that  part  of  the  country ;  that  he  was  land-agent  to 
Lord  Mountrhino,  and  steward  to  the  rich  Miss  Tabbytale  of 
Smerrididdle  Hall ;  that  he  had  been  guardian  (?)  to  three 
young  profligates  who  all  ran  through  their  property,  which, 
somehow  or  another,  came  at  last  into  his  hands,  "  at  an 
equitable  valuation."  Still  his  possessions  were  so  considerable 
as  not  to  be  altogether  accounted  for,  in  vulgar  esteem,  even 
by  these  and  other  honorable  modes  of  accumulation ;  nor 
were  there  wanting  those  who  conscientiously  entertained  a 
belief  that  a  certain  dark-colored  gentleman,  of  indifferent 
character,  known  principally  by  his  predilection  for  appearing 
in  perpetual  mourning,  had  been  through  life  his  great  friend 
and  counsellor,  and  had  mainly  assisted  in  the  acquirement  of 
his  revenues.  That  "  old  Jerry  Jarvis  had  sold  himself  to 
the  devil "  was,  indeed,  a  dogma  which  it  were  heresy  to  doubt 
in  Appledore; — on  this  hand,  at  least,  there  were  few  schis- 
matics in  the  parish. 

When  the  worthy  "  Solicitor  "  next  looked  out  of  his  ground- 
floor  back,  he  smiled  with  much  complacency  at  beholding  Joe 
Washford  again  hard  at  work — in  his  wig — the  little  tail 
aforesaid  oscillating  like  a  pendulum  in  the  breeze.  If  it  be 
asked  what  could  induce  a  gentleman  whose  leading  principle 
seems  to  have  been  self-appropriation  to  make  so  magnificent 
a  present,  the  answer  is,  that  Mr.  Jarvis  might  perhaps  have 
thought  an  occasional  act  of  benevolence  necessary  or  politic ; 
he  is  not  the  only  person  who,  having  stolen  a  quantity  of 
leather,  has  given  away  a  pair  of  shoes  pour  I'amour  de  Dieu, — 
perhaps  he  had  other  motives. 

Joe,  meanwhile,  worked  away  at  the  celery-bed ;  but,  truth 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  WEALD    OF  KENT.  553 

obliges  us  to  say,  neither  with  the  same  degree  of  vigor  nor 
perseverance  as  had  marked  the  earlier  efforts  of  the  morning. 
His  pauses  were  more  frequent ;  he  rested  longer  on  the  handle 
of  his  spade ;  while  ever  and  anon  his  eye  would  wander  from 
the  trench  beneath  him  to  an  object  not  unworthy  the  con- 
templation of  a  natural  philosopher.     This  was  an  apple-tree. 

Fairer  fruit  never  tempted  Eve,  or  any  of  her  daughters ; 
the  bending  branches  groaned  beneath  their  luxuriant  freight, 
and,  dropping  to  earth,  seemed  to  ask  the  protecting  aid  of 
man  either  to  support  or  to  relieve  them.  The  fine,  rich  glow  of 
their  sun-streaked  clusters  derived  additional  loveliness  from 
the  level  beams  of  the  descending  day-star.  An  anchoret's 
mouth  had  watered  at  the  pippins. 

On  the  precise  graft  of  the  espalier  of  Eden,  "  Sanchonia- 
thon,  Manetho,  and  Berosus,"  are  undecided  ;  the  best-informed 
Talmudists,  however,  have,  if  we  are  to  believe  Dr.  Pinner's 
German  Version,  pronounced  it  a  Ribstone  pippin,  and  a  Rib- 
stone  pippin-tree  it  was  that  now  attracted  the  optics  and 
discomposed  the  inner  man  of  the  thirsty,  patient,  but  perspir- 
ing gardener.  The  heat  was  still  oppressive;  no  beer  had 
moistened  his  lip,  though  its  very  name,  uttered  as  it  was  in 
the  ungracious  tones  of  a  Witherspoon,  had  left  behind  a 
longing  as  intense  as  fruitless.  His  thirst  seemed  supernatural, 
when  at  this  moment  his  left  ear  experienced  "  a  slight  and 
tickling  sensation,"  such  as  we  are  assured  is  occasionally 
produced  by  an  infinitesimal  dose  in  homoeopathy ;  a  still, 
small  voice — it  was  as  though  a  daddy  long-legs  were  whisper- 
ing in  his  tympanum — a  small  voice  seemed  to  say,  "  Joe ! — 
take  an  apple,  Joe !" 

Honest  Joseph  started  at  the  suggestion ;  the  rich  crimson 
of  his  jolly  nose  deepened  to  a  purple  tint  in  the  beams  of  the 
setting  sun;  his  very  forehead  was  incarnadine.  He  raised 
his  hand  to  scratch  his  ear ;  the  little  tortuous  tail  had  worked 
its  way  into  it, — he  pulled  it  out  by  the  bit  of  shalloon,  and 
allayed  the  itching,  then  cast  his  eye  wistfully  towards  the 
mansion  where  his  master  was  sitting  by  the  open  window. 
Joe  pursed  up  his  parched  lips  into  an  arid  whistle,  and 
with  a  desperate  energy  struck  his  spade  once  more  into  the 
celery-bed. 


554  JERRY  JAR  VIS'S  WIG. 

Alack!  alack!  what  a  piece  of  work  is  man! — how  short 
his  triumphs! — how  frail  his  resoliitious ! 

From  this  fine  and  very  original  moral  reflection  we  turn 
reluctantly  to  record  the  sequel.  The  celery-bed,  alluded  to 
as  the  main  scene  of  Mr.  Washford's  operations,  was  drawn  in 
a  rectilinear  direction,  nearly  across  the  whole  breadth  of 
the  parallelogram  that  comprised  the  "kitchen  garden."  Its 
northern  extremity  abutted  to  the  hedge  before  mentioned; 
its  southern  one — woe  is  me  that  it  should  have  been  so ! — was 
in  fearful  vicinity  to  the  Ribstone  pippin-tree.  One  branch, 
low  bowed  to  earth,  seemed  ready  to  discharge  its  precious 
burden  into  the  very  trench.  As  Joseph  stooped  to  insert  the 
last  plant  with  his  dibble,  an  apple  of  more  than  ordinary 
beauty  bobbed  against  his  knuckles.  "  He's  taking  snufl",  Joe,'* 
whispered  the  same  small  voice; — the  tail  had  twisted  itself 
into  its  old  position.  "  He  is  sneezing ! — now,  Joe ! — now !" 
and,  ere  the  agitated  horticulturist  could  recover  from  his 
surprise  and  alarm,  the  fruit  was  severed,  and — in  his  hand ! 

"  He !  he !  he !"  shrilly  laughed,  or  seemed  to  laugh,  that 
accursed  little  pigtail.  Washford  started  at  once  to  the  per- 
pendicular;— with  an  enfreuzied  grasp  he  tore  the  jasey  from 
his  head,  and,  with  that  in  one  hand  and  his  ill-acquired  spoil 
in  the  other,  he  rushed  distractedly  from  the  garden ! 


All  that  night  was  the  humble  couch  of  the  once-happy 
gardener  haunted  with  the  most  fearful  visions.  He  was 
stealing  apples, — he  was  robbing  hen-roosts, — he  was  altering 
the  chalks  upon  the  milk-score, — he  had  purloined  three 
chemises  from  a  hedge,  and  he  awoke  in  the  very  act  of  cut- 
ting the  throat  of  one  of  Squire  Hodge's  sheep !  A  clammy 
dew  stood  upon  his  temples, — the  cold  perspiration  burst 
from  every  pore, — he  sprang  in  terror  from  the  bed. 

"  Why,  Joe,  what  ails  thee,  man  ?"  cried  the  usually  in- 
curious Mrs.  Washford;  "what  be  the  matter  with  thee? 
Thee  hast  done  nothing  but  grunt  and  growl  all  t'  night  long, 
and  now  thee  dost  stare  as  if  thee  saw  summut.  What  bees 
it,  Joe  ?" 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE   WEALD    OF  KENT.  555 

A  long-drawn  sigh  was  her  husband's  only  answer ;  his  eye 
fell  upon  the  bed,  "How  the  devil  came  that  here?"  quoth 
Joseph,  with  a  suddeu  recoil ;  "  who  put  that  thing  on  my 
pillow?" 

"  Why,  I  did,  Joseph.  Th'  ould  nightcap  is  in  the  wash,  and 
thee  didst  toss  and  tumble  so,  and  kick  the  clothes  off,  I  thought 
thee  mightest  catch  cold,  so  I  clapt  t'  wig  atop  o'  thee  head." 

And  there  it  lay, — the  little  sinister-looking  tail  impudently 
perked  up,  like  an  infernal  gnomon  on  a  Satanic  dial-plate — 
Larceny  and  Ovicide  shone  in  every  hair  of  it ! 

"  The  dawn  was  overcast,  the  morning  lowered. 
And  heavily  in  clouds  brought  on  the  day," 

when  Joseph  Washford  once  more  repaired  to  the  scene  of  his 
daily  labors ;  a  sort  of  unpleasant  consciousness  flushed  his 
countenance,  and  gave  him  an  uneasy  feeling  as  he  opened 
the  garden  gate;  for  Joe,  generally  speaking,  was  honest  as 
the  skin  between  his  brows  ;  his  hand  faltered  as  he  pressed 
the  latch.  "  Pooh,  pooh  !  'twas  but  an  apple,  after  all !"  said 
Joseph.  He  pushed  open  the  Avicket,  and  found  himself  be- 
neath the  tempting  tree. 

But  vain  now  were  all  its  fascinations ;  like  fairy  gold  seen 
by  the  morning  light,  its  charms  had  faded  into  very  nothing- 
ness. Worlds,  to  say  nothing  of  apples,  which  in  shape 
resemble  them,  would  not  have  bought  him  to  stretch  forth 
an  unhallowed  hand  again  :  he  went  steadily  to  his  work. 

The  day  continued  cloudy;  huge  drops  of  rain  fell  at  in- 
tervals, stamping  his  bald  pate  with  spots  as  big  as  half-pence ; 
but  Joseph  worked  on.  As  the  day  advanced,  showers  fell 
thick  and  frequent ;  the  fresh-turned  earth  was  itself  fragrant 
as  a  bouquet.  Joseph  worked  on ;  and  when  at  last  Jupiter 
Pluvius  descended  in  all  his  majesty,  soaking  the  ground  into 
the  consistency  of  a  dingy  pudding,  he  put  on  his  party- 
colored  jacket,  and  strode  towards  his  humble  home,  rejoicing 
in  his  renewed  integrity.  "  'Twas  but  an  apple,  after  all ! 
Had  it  been  an  apple-pie,  indeed !" — 

"An  apple-pie!"  the  thought  was  a  dangerous  one — too  dan- 
gerous to  dwell  on.  But  Joseph's  better  Genius  was  at  this 
time  lord  of  the  ascendant ; — he  dismissed  it,  and  passed  on. 


.556  JERRY  JAR  VIS'S  WIG. 

On  arriving  at  his  cottage,  an  air  of  bustle  and  confusion 
prevailed  within,  much  at  variance  with  the  peaceful  serenity 
usually  observable  in  its  economy.  Mrs.  Washford  was  in 
\\\\rh.  dudgeon;  her  heels  clattered  on  the  rod-tiled  floor, 
and  she  whisked  about  the  house  like  a  parched  pea  upon  a 
drum-head ;  her  voice,  generally  small  and  low — "  an  excellent 
thing  in  woman" — was  ])iLched  at  least  an  octave  above  its 
ordinary  level :  she  was  talking  fast  and  furious.  Something 
Lad  evidently  gone  wrong.  The  mystery  was  soon  explained. 
The  "  cussed  ould  twoad  of  a  cat "  had  got  into  the  dairy,  and 
licked  off  the  cream  from  the  only  pan  their  single  cow  had 
filled  that  morning !  And  there  she  now  lay,  purring  as  in 
scorn.  Tib,  heretofore  the  meekest  of  mousers,  the  honestest, 
the  least  "  scaddle"  of  the  feline  race, — a  cat  that  one  would 
have  sworn  might  have  been  trusted  with  untold  fish, — yes, — 
there  was  no  denying  it, — proofs  were  too  strong  against  her, — 
yet  there  she  lay,  hardened  in  her  iniquity,  coolly  licking  her 
whiskers,  and  reposing  quietly  upon — what? — Jerry  Jarvis's 
old  wig ! ! 

The  patience  of  a  Stoic  must  have  yielded  ! — it  had  been  too 
much  for  the  temperament  of  the  Man  of  Uz.  Joseph  Wash- 
ford  lifted  his  hand — that  hand  which  had  never  yet  been  raised 
on  Tibby,  save  to  fondle  and  caress ;  it  now  descended  on  her 
devoted  head  in  one  tremendous  "  dowse."  Never  was  cat  so 
astonished, — so  enraged — all  the  tiger  portion  of  her  nature 
rose  in  her  soul.  Instead  of  galloping  off,  hissing  and  sputter- 
ing, with  arched  back,  and  tail  erected,  as  any  ordinary  Grim- 
alkin would  unquestionably  have  done  under  similar  circum- 
stances, she  paused  a  moment, — drew  back  on  her  haunches, — 
all  her  energies  seemed  concentrated  for  one  prodigious  spring ; 
a  demoniac  fire  gleamed  in  her  green  and  yellow  eyeballs,  as, 
bounding  upwards,  she  fixed  her  talons  firmly  in  each  of  her 
assailant's  cheeks ! — many  and  many  a  day  after  were  sadly 
visible  the  marks  of  those  envenomed  claws — then,  dashing 
over  his  shoulder  with  an  unearthly  mew,  she  leaped  through 
the  open  casement,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

"  The  devil's  in  the  cat !"  was  the  apostrophe  of  Mrs.  Mar- 
garet Washford.  Her  husband  said  nothing,  but  thrust  the  old 
wig  into  his  pocket,  and  went  to  bathe  his  scratches  at  the  pump. 


A   LEGEND   OF  THE  WEALD   OF  KENT.  557 

Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  'twas  all  the  same — Joe 
Washford's  life  became  a  burden  to  him ;  his  natural  upright 
and  honest  mind  struggled  hard  against  the  frailty  of  human 
nature.  He  was  ever  restless  and  uneasy;  his  frank,  open, 
manly  look,  that  blenched  not  from  the  gaze  of  the  spectator, 
was  no  more;  a  sly  and  sinister  expression  had  usurped  the 
place  of  it. 

Mr.  Jeremiah  Jar  vis  had  little  of  what  the  world  calls 
"  Taste,"  still  less  of  Science.  Ackerman  would  have  called 
him  a  "  Suob,"  and  Buckland  a  "  Nincompoop."  Of  the  Hor- 
ticultui-al  Society,  its  fetes,  its  fruits,  and  its  fiddlings,  he  knew 
nothing.  Little  recked  he  of  flowers — save  cauliflowers — in 
these,  indeed,  he  was  a  connoisseur!  to  their  cultivation  and 
cookery  the  respective  talents  of  Joe  and  Madame  Witherspoon 
had  long  been  dedicated  ;  but  as  for  a  houqaet : — Hardham's  37 
was  "  the  only  one  fit  for  a  gentleman's  nose."  And  yet,  after 
all,  Jerry  Jarvis  had  a  good-looking  tulip-bed.  A  female  friend 
of  his  had  married  a  Dutch  merchant ;  Jerry  drew  the  settle- 
ments ;  the  lady  paid  him  by  a  check  on  *'  Child's,"  the  gentle- 
man by  a  present  of  a  "  box  of  roots."  Jerry  put  the  latter  in 
his  garden — he  had  rather  they  had  been  schalots. 

Not  so  his  neighbor  Jenkinsou ;  he  was  a  man  of  "Taste" 
and  of  "  Science ;"  he  was  an  F.R.C.E.B.S.,  which,  as  he  told 
the  Vicar,  implied,  "  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Cathartico-Emetico- 
Botanical  Society,"  and  his  autograph  in  Sir  John  Frostyface's 
album  stood  next  to  that  of  the  Emperor  of  all  the  Russias. 
Neighbor  Jenkinson  fell  in  love  with  the  pips  and  petals  of 
"neighbor  Jarvis's  tulips."  There  were  one  or  two  among 
them  of  such  brilliant,  such  surpassing  beauty, — the  "  cups  "  so 
well  formed, — the  colors  so  defined.  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Jenkinson 
had  enough  in  his  own  garden :  but  then  "  Enough,"  says  the 
philosopher,  "  always  means  a  little  more  than  a  man  has  got." 
- — Alas !  alas !  Jerry  Jarvis  was  never  known  to  bestow, — his 
neighbor  dared  not  ofler  to  purchase  from  so  wealthy  a  man ; 
and,  worse  than  all,  Joe,  the  gardener,  was  incorruptible — ay, 
but  the  wig  ? 

Joseph  Washford  was  working  away  again  in  the  blaze  of  the 
midday  sun  ;  his  head  looked  like  a  copper  saucepan  fresh  from 
the  brazier's. 


558  JERRY  JAR  VIS'S  WIG. 

"  Why,  whcre's  your  wig,  Joseph  ?"  said  the  voice  of  his 
master  from  tlie  well-knowu  window ;  "  what  have  you  done 
with  your  wig  ?"  The  question  was  embarrassing, — its  tail  had 
tickled  his  ear  till  it  had  made  it  sore  !  Joseph  had  put  the  wig 
in  his  pocket. 

^Ir.  Jeremiah  Jarvis  was  indignant ;  he  liked  not  that  his 
benefits  should  be  ill  appreciated  by  the  recipient.  "  Hark  ye, 
Joseph  Washford,"  said  he,  "  either  wear  my  wig,  or  let  me 
have  it  again !" 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of  his  tones  ;  they  were 
resonant  of  indignation  and  disgust,  of  mingled  grief  and  anger, 
the  amalgamation  of  sentiment  naturally  produced  by 

"  Friendship  unreturned, 
And  unrequited  love." 

Washford's  heart  smote  him  :  he  felt  all  that  was  implied  in 
his  master's  appeal.  "  It's  here,  your  honor,"  said  he;  "I  had 
only  taken  it  off  because  we  have  had  a  smartish  shower ;  but 
the  sky  is  brightening  now."  The  wig  was  replaced,  and  the 
little  tortuous  pigtail  wriggled  itself  into  its  accustomed  posi- 
tion. 

At  this  moment  neighbor  Jenkinson  peeped  over  the  hedge. 

"  Joe  Washford !"  said  neighbor  Jenkinson. 

"  Sir  to  you,"  was  the  reply. 

"  How  beautiful  your  tulips  look  after  the  rain !" 

"  Ah !  sir,  master  sets  no  great  store  by  them  flowers,"  re- 
turned the  gardener. 

"  Indeed !  Then  perhaps  he  would  have  no  objection  to  part 
with  a  few?" 

"  Why,  no ! — I  don't  think  master  would  like  to  give  them — 
or  anything  else — away,  sir ;"  and  Washford  scratched  his  ear. 

"  Joe ! !"  said  Mr.  Jenkinson — "  Joe !" 

The  Sublime,  observes  Longinus,  is  often  embodied  in  a 
monosyllable — "  Joe  ! ! !" — Mr.  Jenkinson  said  no  more ;  but  a 
half-crown  shone  from  between  his  upraised  fingers,  and  its 
"  poor,  poor  dumb  mouth  "  spoke  for  him. 

How  Joseph  Washford's  left  ear  did  itch !  He  looked  to  the 
ground-floor  back — Mr.  Jarvis  had  left  the  window. 

Mr.  Jenkinson's  ground-plot  boasted,  at  daybreak  next  morn- 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  WEALD    OF  KENT.  559 

ing,  a  splendid  Semper  Augiistus,  "  which  was  not  so  before," 
and  Joseph  Washford  was  led  home,  much  about  the  same 
time,  in  a  most  extraordinary  state  of  "  civilation,"  from  "  The 
Three  Jolly  Pot-boys." 

From  that  hour  he  was  the  Fiend's  1 ! 


''Facilis  descensus  Averni  /"  says  Virgil.  "  It  is  only  the  first 
step  that  is  attended  with  any  difficulty,"  says — somebody  else 
— when  speaking  of  the  decollated  martyr  St.  Dennis's  walk 
with  his  head  under  his  arm.  "  The  First  Step !" — Joseph 
Washford  had  taken  that  step  !  he  had  taken  two — three — four 
steps ;  and  now,  from  a  hesitating,  creeping,  cat-like  mode  of 
progression,  he  had  got  into  a  firmer  tread — an  amble — a  posi- 
tive trot !  He  took  the  family  linen  "  to  the  wash :" — one  of 
Madame  Witherspoon's  best  Holland  chemises  was  never  seen 
after. 

"Lost? — impossible !  How  could  it  be  lost? — where  coidd  it 
be  gone  to  ? — who  could  have  got  it  ?  It  was  her  best — her  very 
best ! — she  should  know  it  among  a  hundred — among  a  thou- 
sand ! — it  was  marked  with  a  great  W  in  the  corner ! — Lost  ? 
— impossible. — She  would  see  !" — Alas !  she  never  did  see — the 
chemise — abiit,  erupit,  evasit ! — it  was 

"  Like  the  lost  Pleiad,  seen  on  earth  no  more." 

— but  Joseph  Washford's  Sunday  shirt  was  seen,  finer  and  fairer 
than  ever — the  pride  and  dulce  decus  of  the  Meeting. 

The  Meeting  ? — ay,  the  Meeting.  Joe  "Washford  never  missed 
the  Appledore  Independent  Meeting-House,  whether  the  service 
were  in  the  morning  or  afternoon, — whether  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Slyandry  exhorted  or  made  way  for  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tearbrain. 
Let  who  would  oflSciate,  there  was  Joe.  As  I  have  said  before, 
he  never  missed ; — but  other  people  missed — one  missed  an 
umbrella, — one  a  pair  of  clogs.  Farmer  Johnson  missed  his 
tobacco  box, — Farmer  Jackson  his  great  coat, — Miss  Jackson 
missed  her  hymn-book, — a  diamond  edition,  bound  in  maroou- 
colored  velvet,  with  gilt  corners  and  clasps.  Everything,  in 
short,  was  missing — but  Joe  Washford;    there  he  sat,  grave, 


660  JERRY  JARVIS'S  WIG. 

sedate,  and  motionless — all  save  that  restless,  troublesome, 
fidgety  little  jjigtail  attached  to  his  wig,  which  nothing  could 
kwp  quiet,  or  prevent  from  tickling  and  interfering  with  Miss 
Thompson's  curls,  as  she  sat  back  to  back  with  Joe  in  the  ad- 
joining pew.  After  the  third  Sunday,  Nancy  Thompson  eloped 
with  the  tall  recruiting  sergeant  of  the  Connaught  Rangers. 

The  summer  passed  away, — autumn  came  and  went, — and 
Christmas,  jolly  Christmas,  that  period  of  which  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  utter  the  mournful  truism,  it  "  comes  but  once  a  year," 
wa^i  at  hand.  It  was  a  fine  bracing  morning ;  the  sun  was  just 
beginning  to  throw  a  brighter  tint  upon  the  Quaker-colored 
ravine  of  Orlestone  Hill,  when  a  medical  gentleman,  returning 
to  the  quiet  little  village  of  Ham  Street,  that  lies  at  its  foot, 
from  a  farm-house  at  Kingsnorth,  rode  briskly  down  the  de- 
clivity. 

After  several  hours  of  patient  attention,  Mr.  Money  penny 
had  succeeded  in  introducing  to  the  notice  of  seven  little  ex- 
pectant brothers  and  sisters  a  "  remarkably  fine  child,"  and 
was  now  hurrying  home  in  the  sweet  hope  of  a  comfortable 
"  snooze  "  for  a  couple  of  hours  before  the  announcement  of  tea 
and  muffins  should  arouse  him  to  fresh  exertion.  The  road  at 
this  particular  spot  had,  even  then,  been  cut  deep  below  the 
surface  of  the  soil,  for  the  purpose  of  diminishing  the  abrupt- 
ness of  the  descent ;  and,  as  either  side  of  the  superincumbent 
banks  was  clothed  with  a  thick  mantle  of  tangled  copsewood, 
the  passage,  even  by  day,  was  sufficiently  obscure,  the  level 
beams  of  the  rising  or  setting  sun,  as  they  happened  to  enfilade 
the  gorge,  alone  illuminating  its  recesses.  A  long  stream  of 
rosy  light  was  just  beginning  to  make  its  way  through  the  vista, 
and  Mr.  Moneypenny's  nose  had  scarcely  caught  and  reflected 
its  kindred  ray,  when  the  sturdiest  and  most  active  cob  that 
ever  rejoiced  in  the  appellation  of  a  "Sufl^olk  Punch"  brought 
herself  up  in  mid  career  upon  her  haunches,  and  that  with  a 
suddenness  which  had  almost  induced  her  rider  to  describe  that 
beautiful  mathematical  figure,  the  parabola,  between  her  ears. 
Peggy — her  name  was  Peggy — stood  stock-still,  snorting  like  a 
stranded  grampus,  and  alike  insensible  to  the  gentle  hints 
afforded  her  by  hand  and  heel. 

"  Teh ! — tch ! — get  along,  Peggy !"  half  exclaimed,  half  whis- 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  WEALD    OF  KENT.  561 

tied  the  equestrian.  If  ever  steed  said  in  its  heart,  "  I'll  be  shot 
if  I  do  I"  it  was  Peggy  at  that  moment.  She  planted  her  fore- 
legs deep  in  the  sandy  soil,  raised  her  stump  of  a  tail  to  an 
elevation  approaching  the  horizontal,  protruded  her  nose  like 
a  pointer  at  a  covey,  and  with  expanded  nostril  continued  to 
snuffle  most  egregiously. 

Mr.  Geoffrey  Gambado,  the  illustrious  "  Master  of  the  Horse 
to  the  Doge  of  Venice,"  tells  us,  in  his  far-famed  treatise  on 
the  Art  Equestrian,  that  the  most  embarrassing  position  in 
which  a  rider  can  be  placed  is  when  he  wishes  to  go  one  way,' 
and  his  horse  is  determined  to  go  another.  There  is,  to  be  sure, 
a  tertium  quid,  which,  though  it  "  splits  the  difference,"  scarcely 
obviates  the  inconvenience;  this  is  when  the  parties  compro- 
mise the  matter  by  not  going  any  way  at  all — to  this  compro- 
mise Peggy  and  her  (soi-disant)  master  were  now  reduced  ;  they 
had  fairly  joined  issue.  "  Budge !"  quoth  the  doctor.  "  Budge 
not !"  quoth  the  fiend, — for  nothing  short  of  a  fiend  could,  of  a 
surety,  inspire  Peggy  at  such  a  time  with  such  unwonted  obsti- 
nacy— Money  penny  whipped  and  spurred — Peggy  plunged,  and 
reared,  and  kicked,  and  for  several  minutes,  to  a  superficial 
observer,  the  termination  of  the  contest  might  have  appeared 
uncertain ;  but  your  profound  thinker  sees  at  a  glance  that, 
how^ever  the  scales  may  appear  to  vibrate,  when  the  question 
between  the  sexes  is  one  of  perseverance,  it  is  quite  a  lost  case 
for  the  masculine  gender.  Peggy  beat  the  doctor  "all  to 
sticks,"  and,  when  he  was  fairly  tired  of  goading  and  thumi^ing, 
maintained  her  position  as  firmly  as  ever. 

It  is  of  no  great  use,  and  not  particularly  agreeable,  to  sit 
still,  on  a  cold  frosty  morning  in  January,  upon  the  outside  of 
a  brute  that  will  neither  go  forwards  nor  backwards — so  IMr. 
Moneypenny  got  ofl',  and  muttering  curses  both  "loud"  and 
"deep"  between  his  chattering  teeth,  "progressed"  as  near  as 
the  utmost  extremity  of  the  extended  bridle  would  allow  him, 
to  peep  among  the  weeds  and  brushwood  that  flanked  the  road, 
in  order  to  discover,  if  possible,  what  it  was  that  so  exclusively 
attracted  the  instinctive  attention  of  his  Bucephalus. 

His  curiosity  was  not  long  at  fault;  the  sunbeam  glanced 
partially  upon  some  object  ruddier  even  than  itself — it  was  a 
scarlet  waistcoat,  the  wearer  of  which,  overcome  perchance  by 
3G 


562  JERRY  JAR  VIS'S  WIG. 

Cliristmas  compotation,  seemed  to  have  selected  for  his  "thrice- 
driven  bed  of  down"  the  thickest  clump  of  the  tallest  and 
most  imposing  nettles,  thereon  to  doze  away  the  narcotic  effects 
of  superabundant  juniper. 

This,  at  least,  was  Mr.  Moneypenny's  belief,  or  he  would 
scarcely  have  uttered,  at  the  highest  pitch  of  his  contralto, 
"  What  are  you  doing  there,  you  drunken  rascal  ?  frightening 
my  horse !"  We  have  already  hinted,  if  not  absolutely  asserted, 
that  Peggy  was  a  mare ;  but  this  was  no  time  for  verbal  criti- 
cism. "  Get  up,  I  say, — get  up,  and  go  home,  you  scoundrel !" 
But  the  "scoundrel"  and  "drunken  rascal"  answered  not; 
he  moved  not,  nor  could  the  prolonged  shouting  of  the  appel- 
lant, aided  by  significant  explosions  from  a  double-thonged 
whip,  succeed  in  eliciting  a  reply.  No  motion  indicated  that 
the  recumbent  figure,  whose  outline  alone  was  visible,  was  a 
living  and  a  breathing  man. 

The  clear,  shrill  tones  of  a  ploughboy's  whistle  sounded  at 
this  moment  from  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  where  the  broad  green 
expanse  of  Romney  Marsh  stretches  away  from  its  foot  for 
many  a  mile,  and  now  gleamed  through  the  mists  of  morning, 
dotted  and  enamelled  with  its  thousand  flocks.  In  a  few  min- 
utes his  tiny  figure  was  seen  "  slouching"  up  the  ascent,  casting 
a  most  disproportionate  and  ogre-like  shadow  before  him. 

"  Come  here.  Jack,"  quoth  the  doctor, — "  come  here,  boy ; 
lay  hold  of  this  bridle,  and  mind  that  my  horse  does  not  run 
away." 

Peggy  threw  up  her  head,  and  snorted  disdain  at  the  insinu- 
ation,— she  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  doing  any  such 
thing. 

]Mr.  Moneypenny  meanwhile,  disencumbered  of  his  restive 
nag,  proceeded,  by  manual  application,  to  arouse  the  sleeper. 

Alas !  the  Seven  of  Ephcsus  might  sooner  have  been  awakened 
from  their  century  of  somnolency.  His  was  that  dreamless 
sleep  that  knows  no  waking ;  his  cares  in  this  world  were  over. 
Vainly  did  Moneypenny  practice  his  own  constant  precept, 
"  To  be  well  shaken  !" — there  lay  before  him  the  lifeless  body 
of  a  Murdered  Man  ! 

The  corpse  lay  stretched  upon  its  back,  partially  concealed, 
as  we  have  before  said,  by  the  nettles  which  had  sprung  up 


A   LEGEND    OF  THE  WEALD    OF  KENT.  563 

among  the  stumps  of  the  half-grubbed  underwood ;  the  throat 
was  fearfully  lacerated,  and  the  dark,  deep,  arterial  dye  of  the 
coagulated  blood  showed  that  the  carotid  had  been  severed. 
There  was  little  to  denote  the  existence  of  any  struggle ;  but  as 
the  day  brightened,  the  sandy  soil  of  the  road  exhibited  an 
impression  as  of  a  body  that  had  fallen  on  its  plastic  surface, 
aud  had  been  dragged  to  its  present  position,  while  fresh  horse- 
shoe prints  seemed  to  intimate  that  either  the  assassin  or  his 
victim  had  been  mounted.  The  pockets  of  the  deceased  were 
turned  out,  and  empty ;  a  hat  and  heavy-loaded  whip  lay  at  no 
great  distance  from  the  body. 

"  But  what  have  we  here  ?"  quoth  Dr.  Moneypenny ;  "  what 
is  it  that  the  poor  fellow  holds  so  tightly  in  his  hand  ?" 

That  hand  had  manifestly  clutched  some  article  with  all  the 
spasmodic  energy  of  a  dying  grasp — It  was  an  old  wig  ! 


Those  who  are  fortunate  enough  to  have  seen  a  Cinque  Port 
court-house  may  possibly  divine  what  that  useful  and  most 
necessary  edifice  was  some  eighty  years  ago.  Many  of  them 
seem  to  have  undergone  little  alteration,  and  are  in  general  of 
a  composite  order  of  architecture,  a  fanciful  arrangement  of 
brick  and  timber,  with  what  Johnson  would  have  styled  "  inter- 
stices, reticulated,  and  decussated  between  intersections  "  of  lath 
aud  plaster.  Its  less  euphonious  designation  in  the  "  "Weald " 
is  a  "  noggin."  One  half  the  basement  story  is  usually  of  the 
more  solid  material,  the  other,  open  to  the  street, — from  which 
it  is  separated  only  by  a  row  of  dingy  columns,  supporting  a 
portion  of  the  superstructure, — is  paved  with  tiles,  and  does 
duty  as  a  market-place ;  while  in  its  centre,  flanking  the  board 
staircase  that  leads  to  the  sessions-house  above,  stands  an  omin- 
ous-looking machine,  of  heavy  perforated,  wood,  clasped  within 
whose  stern  embrace  "  the  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep" 
off  occasionally  the  drowsiness  produced  by  convivial  excess,  in 
a  most  undignified  position,  an  inconvenience  much  increased 
at  times  by  some  mischievous  urchin,  who,  after  abstracting  tho 
shoes  of  the  helpless  detenu,  amuses  himself  by  tickling  the 
soles  of  hia  feet. 


564  JERRT  JAR  VIS'S  WIG. 

It  was  in  such  a  place,  or  rather  in  the  court-room  above,  that 
in  the  year  1761  a  hale,  robust  man,  somewhat  past  the  middle 
age,  with  a  very  bald  pate,  save  where  a  continued  tuft  of  coarse, 
wiry  hair,  stretching  from  above  each  ear,  swelled  out  into  a 
grayish-looking  bush  upon  the  occiput,  held  up  his  hand  before 
a  grave  and  enlightened  assemblage  of  Dymchurch  jurymen. 
He  stood  arraigned  for  that  offence  most  heinous  in  the  sight 
of  God  and  man,  the  deliberate  and  cold-blooded  butchery  of 
an  unoffending,  unprepared  fellow  creature, — homicidium  quod 
nulla  vidente,  nullo  auscultante,  clam  perpetratur. 

The  victim  was  one  Humphry  Bourne,  a  reputable  grazier 
of  Ivy-church,  worthy  and  well-to-do,  though,  perchance,  a 
thought  too  aj)t  to  indulge  on  a  market-day,  when  "a  score  of 
ewes"  had  brought  in  a  reasonable  profit.  Some  such  cause 
had  detained  him  longer  than  usual  at  an  Ashford  cattle-show ; 
he  had  left  the  town  late,  and  alone;  early  in  the  following 
morning  his  horse  was  found  standing  at  his  own  stable-door, 
the  saddle  turned  round  beneath  its  belly,  and  much  about  the 
time  that  the  corpse  of  its  unfortunate  master  was  discovered 
some  four  miles  off,  by  our  friend  the  pharmacopolist. 

That  poor  Bourne  had  been  robbed  and  murdered  there 
could  be  no  question. 

Who,  then,  was  the  perpetrator  of  the  atrocious  deed  ?  The 
unwilling  hand  almost  refuses  to  trace  the  name  of — Joseph 
Washford. 

Yet  so  it  was.  Mr.  Jeremiah  Jarvis  was  himself  the  coroner 
for  that  division  of  the  county  of  Kent  known  by  the  name  of 
"  The  Lath  of  Scraye."  He  had  not  sat  two  minutes  on  the 
body  before  he  recognized  his  quondam  property,  and  started  at 
beholding  in  the  grasp  of  the  victim,  as  torn  in  the  death- 
struggle  from  the  murderer's  head,  his  own  Old  Wig, — his 
own  perky  little  pigtail,  tied  up  with  a  piece  of  shabby  shalloon, 
now  wriggling  and  quivering,  as  in  salutation  of  its  ancient 
master.  The  silver  buckles  of  the  murdered  man  were  found 
in  Joe  Washford's  shoes, — broad  pieces  were  found  in  Joe 
Washford's  pockets, — Joe  Washford  had  himself  been  found, 
when  the  hue-and-cry  was  up,  hid  in  a  corn-rig  at  no  great  dis- 
tance from  the  scene  of  slaughter,  his  pruning-knife  red  with  the 
evidence  of  his  crime — "  the  gray  hairs  yet  stuck  to  the  heft !" 


A   LEGEXD    OF  THE  WEALD    OF  KENT.  565 

For  tlieir  humane  administration  of  the  laws,  the  lieges  of 
this  portion  of  the  realm  have  long  been  celebrated.  Here  it 
was  that  merciful  verdict  was  recorded  in  the  case  of  the  old 
lady  accused  of  larceny,  "  We  find  her  Not  Guilty,  and  hope 
she  will  never  do  so  any  more !"  Here  it  was  that  the  more 
experienced  culprit,  when  called  upon  to  plead  with  the  cus- 
tomary, though  somewhat  superfluous,  inquiry,  as  to  "  how  he 
would  be  tried  ?"  substituted  for  the  usual  reply  "  By  God  and 
my  country,"  that  of  "  By  your  worship  and  a  Dymchurch 
jury."  Here  it  was — but  enough !  not  even  a  Dymchurch 
jury  could  resist  such  evidence,  even  though  the  gallows  (i.e. 
the  expense  of  erecting  one)  stared  them,  as  well  as  the  criminal, 
in  the  face.  The  very  pigtail  alone !  ever  at  his  ear ! — a  clearer 
case  of  suadante  Diaholo  never  was  made  out.  Had  there  been 
a  doubt,  its  very  conduct  in  the  court-house  would  have  settled 
the  question.  The  Rev.  Joel  Ingoldsby,  umquhile  chaplain  to 
the  Romney  Bench,  has  left  upon  record  that  when  exhibited 
in  evidence,  together  with  the  blood-stained  knife,  its  twistings, 
its  caperings,  its  gleeful  evolutions,  quite  "  flabbergasted "  the 
jury,  and  threw  all  beholders  into  consternation.  It  was 
remarked,  too,  by  many  in  the  Court,  that  the  Forensic  Wig 
of  the  Recorder  himself  was,  on  that  trying  occasion,  palpably 
agitated,  and  that  its  three  depending,  learned-looking  tails  lost 
curl  at  once,  and  slunk  beneath  the  obscurity  of  the  powdered 
collar,  just  as  the  boldest  dog  recoils  from  a  rabid  animal  of  its 
own  species,  however  small  and  insignificant. 

Why  prolong  the  painful  scene  ? — Joe  Washford  was  tried — 
Joe  Washford  was  convicted — Joe  Washford  was  hanged ! 

The  fearful  black  gibbet,  on  which  his  body  clanked  in  its 
chains  to  the  midnight  winds,  frowns  no  more  upon  Orlestone 
Hill ;  it  has  sunk  beneath  the  encroaching  hand  of  civilization  ; 
but  there  it  might  be  seen  late  in  the  last  century,  an  awful 
warning  to  all  bald-pated  gentlemen  how  they  wear,  or  accept, 
the  old  wig  of  a  Special  Attorney, 

Timeo  Danaos  et  dona  ferentes  ! 

Such  gifts,  as  we  have  seen,  may  lead  to  a  "  Morbid  Delusion, 
the  climax  of  which  is  Murder !" 

The  fate  of  the  Wig  itself  is  somewhat  doubtful ;  nobody  seems 


566  VNSOrillSTICATED    WISHES. 

to  have  recollected,  with  any  degree,  of  precision,  what  became 
of  it.  Mr.  lugoldtjby  "  hud  heard  "  that,  when  thrown  into  the 
tire  by  the  court-keeper,  after  whizzing,  and  fizzling,  and  per- 
forming all  sorts  of  supernatural  antics  and  contortions,  it  at 
length  whirled  up  the  chimney  with  a  bang  that  was  taken  for 
the  explosion  of  one  of  the  Feversham  powder-mills,  twenty 
miles  off;  while  others  insinuate  that  in  the  "Great  Storm" 
which  took  place  on  the  night  when  Mr.  Jeremiah  Jarvis  went 
to  his  "  long  home," — wherever  that  may  happen  to  be, — and 
the  whole  of  "  The  Marsh "  appeared  as  one  broad  sheet  of 
flame,  something  that  looked  very  like  a  Fiery  Wig — perhaps 
a  miniature  Comet — it  had  unquestionably  a  tail — was  seen 
careering  in  the  blaze,  and  seeming  to  "  ride  on  the  whirlwind 
and  direct  the  storm." 


BY  MISS  JEMIMA  INGOLDSBY,  AGED  15. 

( Communicated  by  her  Cousin  Tom.) 

OH !  how  I  should  like  in  a  Coach  to  ride, 
Like  the  Sheriffs  I  saw  upon  Lord  Mayor's  day. 
With  a  Coachman  and  little  Postilion  astride 
On  the  back  of  the  leader,  a  prancing  bay. 

And  then  behind  it,  oh  !  I  should  gloiy 

To  see  the  tall  serving-men  standing  upright, 

Like  the  two  who  attend  Mr  Montefiore 

(Sir  Moses,  I  should  sayj,  for  now  he's  a  Knight. 

And  then  the  liveries,  I  know  it  is  rude  to 

Find  fault — but  I'll  hint,  as  he  can't  see  me  blush, 

That  I'd  not  have  the  things  I  can  only  allude  to 
Either  orange  in  hue  or  constructed  of  plush ; 


UNSOPHISTICATED   WISHES.  567 

But  tlieir  coats  and  their  waistcoats  and  hats  are  delightful, 
Their  charmiug  silk  stockings — I  vow  and  declare 

Our  John's  ginger  gaiters,  so  wrinkled  and  frightful, 
I  never  again  shall  be  able  to  bear. 


Oh !  how  I  should  like  to  have  diamonds  and  rubies, 
And  large  plume  of  feathers  and  flowers  in  my  hair ; 

My  gracious !  to  think  how  our  Tom  and  those  boobies, 
Jack  Smith  and  his  friend  Mister  Thompson,  would  stare. 


Then  how  I  should  like  to  drive  to  Guildhall, 

And  to  see  the  nobility  flocking  in  shoals. 
With  their  two-guinea  tickets,  to  dance  at  the  ball 

Which  the  Lord  Mayor  gives  for  the  relief  of  the  Poles. 


And  to  look  at  the  gas  so  uncommonly  pretty, 
And  the  stars  and  the  armor  all  just  as  they  were 

The  day  that  the  Queen  came  in  state  to  the  city 
To  dine  with  the  whole  Corporation  and  Mayor. 


Oh !  how  I  should  like  to  see  Jane  and  Letitia, 
Miss  Jones  and  the  two  Misses  Frump  sitting  still. 

While  dear  Ensign  Brown,  of  the  West  Kent  Militia, 
Solicits  my  hand  for  the  "  Supper"  Quadrille. 


With  his  fine  white  teeth  and  his  cheek  like  a  rose, 
And  his  black  cravat  and  his  diamond  pin. 

And  the  nice  little  moustache  under  his  nose. 
And  the  dear  Utile  tuft  on  the  tip  of  his  chin. 


And  how  I  should  like  some  fine  morning  to  ride 
In  my  coach,  and  my  white  satin  shoes  and  gown, 

To  St.  James's  Church,  with  a  Beau  by  my  side, 
And  I  shouldn't  much  care  if  his  name  was  Brown. 


568  THE  INGOLDSBT  LEGENDS. 

'» 

The  foregoing  pages  complete  the  Series  of  Poems,  etc.,  pub- 
lifjhcd  under  the  name  of  Thomas  Ingoldsby ;  of  these,  "  The 
Legend  oj  Languedoc,"  "  The  Buccaneer's  Curse,"  "  The  House- 
Warming,"  "  Tlie  Lay  of  St  Romioold,"  and  "  The  Brothers  of 
B ir chin gt 071,"  appeared  iu  the  New  Monthly  Magazine,  the 
remainder  in  Bentley's  Miscellany. 

The  following  articles,  which  are  added  for  reasons  stated 
elsewhere,  though  prior  in  point  of  date,  are  by  the  same 
author,  and,  with  few  exceptions,  of  a  similar  character  with 
his  better-known  effusions.  The  first  three  are  versions  of 
dramas  produced :  "  Hermann,"  at  the  English  Opera  House ; 
"  William  Rufus,"  we  believe,  at  Drury  Lane ;  and  "  Marie 
Mignot"  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre.  The  concluding  lines  are 
those  alluded  to  in  the  Memoir  as  having  been  the  last  that 
fell  from  Mr.  Barham's  pen,  and  which  were  written  during 
one  of  those  weary  nights  of  watchfulness  occasioned  by  his 
disease. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


Hermann ;  xir,  ^Je  IStoifeen  Sp^ar. 

AN  Emperor,  famous  in  council  and  camp, 
Has  a  son  who  turns  out  a  remarkable  scamp ; 

Takes  to   dicing  and   drinking,     And   d — mning  and 
sinking, 
And  carries  off  maids,  wives,  and  widows,  like  winking ! 
Since  the  days  of  Arminius,  his  namesake,  than  Hermann 
There  never  was  seen  a  more  profligate  German. 

He  escapes  from  the  City;     And  joins  some  banditti. 
Insensible  quite  to  remorse,  fear,  and  pity ; 
Joins  in  all  their  carousals,  and  revels,  and  robberies, 
And  in  kicking  up  all  sorts  of  shindies  and  bobberies. 

Well,  hearing,  one  day,     His  associates  say 
That  a  bridal  procession  was  coming  their  way. 

Inflamed  with  desire,  he     Breaks  into  a  priory. 
And  kicking  out  every  man  Jack  of  a  friar ^^  he 
Upsets  in  a  twinkling  the  mass-books  and  hassocks. 
And  dresses  his  rogues  in  the  clergyman's  cassocks. 

The  new-married  folks     Taken  in  by  this  hoax. 
Mister  Hermann  grows  frisky  and  full  of  his  jokes : 
To  the  serious  chagrin  of  her  late  happy  suitor, 
Catching  hold  of  the  Bride,  he  attempts  to  salute  her. 

Now  Heaven  knows  what     Had  become  of  the  lot — 
It's  Turtle  to  Tripe  they'd  have  all  gone  to  pot — 

If  a  Dumb  Lady,  one     Of  her  friends,  had  not  run 
To  her  aid,  and,  quite  scandalized,  stopped  all  his  fun ! 

(569) 


570  HERMANN;    OR,   THE  BROKEN  SPEAR. 

Just  conceive  what  a  caper    He  cut,  when  her  taper 
Long  fingers  scrawled  this  upon  whitey-brown  paper 
(At  the  instant  he  seized,  and  before  he  had  kissed  her), — 
"  Ha'  done,  Mister  Hermann  !  for  shame :  it's  your  sister !" 
His  hair  stands  on  end, — he  desists  from  his  tricks, 
And  remains  in  a  "  pretty  particular  fix," 

As  he  knows  Sir  John  Nicholl      Still  keeps   rods  in 
pickle, 
Ofiences  of  this  kind  severely  to  tickle. 
At  so  near  an  escape  from  his  court  and  its  sentence 
His  eyes  fill  with  tears  and  his  breast  with  repentance : 

So,  picking  and  stealing,     And  unrighteous  dealing. 
Of  all  sorts  he  cuts,  from  this  laudable  feeling : 

Of  wickedness  weary,     With  many  a  tear,  he 
Now  takes  a  French  leave  of  the  vile  Condottieri : 
And  the  next  thing  we  hear  of  this  penitent  villain, 
He  is  begging  in  rags  in  the  suburbs  of  Milan. 


Half  starved,  meagre,  and  pale.     His  energies  fail. 
When  his  sister  comes  in  with  a  pot  of  mild  ale : 

But  though  tattered  his  jerkins, 

His  heart  is  whole, — workings 
Of  conscience  debar  him  from  "  Barclay  and  Perkins." 

"  I'll  drink,"  exclaims  he,     "  Nothing  stronger  than  tea, 
And  that  but  the  worst  and  the  weakest  Bohea, 
Till  I've  done — from  my  past  scenes  of  folly  a  far  actor — 
Some  feat  shall  redeem  both  my  wardrobe  and  character." 
At  signs  of  remorse  so  decided  and  visible 
Nought  can  equal  the  joy  of  his  fair  sister  Isabel, 

And  the  Dumb  Lady  too,     Who  runs  off  to  a  Jew, 
And  buys  him  a  coat  of  mail  spick  and  span  new. 
In  the  hope  that  his  prowess  and  deeds  as  a  Knight 
Will  keep  his  late  larcenies  quite  out  of  sight. 
By  the  greatest  good  luck,  his  old  friends  the  banditti 
Choose  this  moment  to  make  an  attack  on  the  city ! 

Now  you  all  know  the  way     Heroes  hack,  hew,  and 
slay, 
When  once  they  get  fairly  mixed  up  in  a  fray. 


HERMANN;    OR,   THE  BROKEN  SPEAR.  571 

Hermann  joins  in  the  mclce,     Pounds  this  to  a  jelly, 
Euns  that  through  the  back,  and  a  third  through  the  belly, 
Till  many  a  broken  bone,  bruised  rib,  and  flat  head, 
Make  his  ci-devant  friends  curse  the  hour  that  he  ratted. 

Amid  so  many  blows.     Of  course  you'll  suppose 
He  must  get  a  black  eye,  or,  at  least,  bloody  nose : 
"  Take  that !"  cried  a  bandit,  and  stuck,  while  he  spoke  it, 
His  spear  in  his  breast,  and,  in  pulling  it  out,  broke  it. 

Hermann  fainted  away.      When,  as  breathless  he  lay, 
A  rascal  claimed  all  the  renown  of  the  day, — 
A  recreant,  cowardly,  white-livered  knight. 
Who  had  skulked  in  a  furze-bush  the  whole  of  the  fight. 

But  the  Dumb  Lady  soon      Puts  some  gin  in  a  spoon. 
And  half  strangles   poor   Hermann,   who   wakes   from   his 

swoon. 
And  exhibits  his  wound,  when  the  head  of  the  spear 
Fits  its  handle,  and  makes  his  identity  clear. 
The  murder  thus  out,  Hermann's  feted  and  thanked, 
While  his  rascally  rival  gets  tossed  in  a  blanket ; 

And  to  finish  the  play —     As  reformed  rakes,  they  say, 
Make  the  best  of  all  husbands — the  very  same  day 
Hermann  sends  for  a  priest,  as  he  must  wed  with  some — lady, 
Buys  a  ring  and  a  license,  and  marries  the  Dumb  Lady. 


MORAL. 

Take  warning,  young  people  of  every  degree. 

From  Hermann's  example,  and  don't  live  too  free ! 

If  you  get  in  bad  company,  fi[y  from  it  soon ! 

If  you  chance  to  get  thrashed,  take  some  gin  in  a  spoon  ; 

And  remember,  since  wedlock's  not  all  sugar-candy, 

If  you  wish  to  'scape  "  wigging,"  a  dumb  wife's  the  dandy ! 


672  HINTS  FOR   AN  HISTORICAL   PLAT. 

?i}itttfii  for  an  pjigitorical  ?3las 

TO  BE   CALLED 

WILLIAM  EUFUS;  OE,  THE  EED  EOVEE. 

Act  I. 

WALTER  TYRREL,  the  son  of  a  Norman  Papa, 
Has,  somehow  or  other,  a  Saxon  Mamma ; 
Though  humble,  yet  far  above  mere  vulgar  loons, 
He's  a  sort  of  a  sub  in  the  Rufus  Dragoons ; 
Has  travelled,  but  comes  home  abruptly,  the  rather 
As  some  unknown  rascal  has  murdered  his  father ; 
And  scarce  has  he  picked  up  and  stuck  in  his  quiver 
The  arrow  that  pierced  the  old  gentleman's  liver. 
When  he  finds,  as  misfortunes  come  rarely  alone. 
That  his  sweetheart  has  bolted — with  whom  is  not  known,  j 
But,  as  murder  will  out,  he  at  last  finds  the  lady 
At  Court,  with  her  character  grown  rather  shady ; 
This  gives  him  the  "  blues,"  and  impairs  the  delight 
He'd  have  otherwise  felt  when  they  dub  him  a  knight 
For  giving  a  ruuaway  stallion  a  check. 
And  preventing  his  breaking  King  Rufus's  neck. 

Act  II. 

Sir  Walter  has  dressed  himself  up  like  a  Ghost, 
And  frightens  a  soldier  away  from  his  post ; 
Then,  discardmg  his  helmet,  he  pulls  his  cloak  higher. 
Draws  it  over  his  ears,  and  pretends  he's  a  friar. 
This  gains  him  access  to  his  sweetheart,  Miss  Faucit, 
But,  the  King  coming  in,  he  hides  up  in  her  closet ; 
Where,  oddly  enough,  among  some  of  her  things 
He  discovers  some  arrows  he's  sure  are  the  King's, 
Of  the  very  same  pattern  with  that  which  he  found 
Sticking  into  his  father  when  dead  on  the  ground ! 
Forgetting  his  funk,  he  bursts  open  the  door, 
Bounces  into  the  drawing-room,  stamps  on  the  floor, 


HINTS  FOR  AN  HISTORICAL  PLAY.  573 

With  an  oath  on  his  tongue  and  revenge  in  his  eye, 
And  blows  up  King  William  the  Second  sky-high, — 
Swears,  storms,  shakes  his  fist,  and  exhibits  such  airs 
That  his  Majesty  bids  his  men  kick  him  down  stairs. 


Act  III. 

King  Rufus  is  cross  when  he  comes  to  reflect 
That,  as  King,  he's  been  treated  with  gross  disrespect ; 
So  he  pens  a  short  note  to  a  holy  physician, 
And  gives  him  a  rather  unholy  commission, 
Viz.,  to  mix  up  some  arsenic  and  ale  in  a  cup. 
Which  the  chances  are  Tyrrel  may  find  and  drink  up. 
Sure  enough,  on  the  very  next  morning.  Sir  Walter 
Perceives,  in  his  walks,  this  same  cup  on  the  altar. 
As  he  feels  rather  thirsty,  he's  just  about  drinking, 
When  Miss  Faucit  in  tears  comes  in  running  like  winking. 
He  pauses  of  course,  and  as  she's  thirsty  too, 
Says  very  politely,  "  Miss,  I  after  you !" 
The  young  lady  curtsies,  and  being  so  dry, 
Raises  somehow  her  fair  little  finger  so  high 
That  there's  not  a  drop  left  him  to  "  wet  t'other  eye ;" 
While  the  dose  is  so  strong,  to  his  grief  and  surprise, 
She  merely  says,  "  Thankee,  Sir  Walter,"  and  dies. 
At  that  moment  the  King,  who  is  riding  to  cover, 
Pops  in  en  passant  on  the  desperate  lover, 
Who  has  vowed,  not  five  minutes  before,  to  transfix  him, 
— So  he  does, — he  just  pulls  out  his  arrow  and  sticks  him. 
From  the  strength  of  his  arm,  and  the  force  of  his  blows. 
The  Red-bearded  Rover  falls  flat  on  his  nose ; 
And  Sir  Walter,  thus  having  concluded  his  quarrel. 
Walks  down  to  the  footlights,  and  draws  this  fine  moral — 
"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen, 

Lead  sober  lives : — 
Don't  meddle  with  other  folks'  Sweethearts  or  Wives ! — 
When  you  go  out  a-sporting  take  care  of  your  gun, 
And — never  shoot  elderly  people  in  fiin !" 


574  MARIE  MIQNOT. 

IHarie  ilHigttot. 

MISS  MARIE  MIGNOT  was  a  nice  little  Maid, 
Her  Uncle  a  Cook,  and  a  Laundress  her  trade, 
And  she  loved  as  dearly  as  any  one  can 
Mister  Lagardie,  a  nice  little  man. 

But  oh !     But  oh !     Story  of  woe  I 
A  sad  interloper,  one  Monsieur  Modeau, 

Ugly  and  old,     With  plenty  of  gold, 

Made  lii§  approach     In  an  elegant  coach. 
Her  fancy  was  charmed  with  the  splendor  and  show, 
And  he  bore  off  the  false-hearted  Molly  Miguot. 

Monsieur  Modeau  was  crazy  and  old, 

And  Monsieur  Modeau  caught  a  terrible  cold  ; 

His  nose  was  stuffed  and  his  throat  was  sore. 

He  had  physic  by  the  quart  and  Doctors  by  the  score ; 

They  sent  squills,     And  pills,     And  very  long  bills. 
And  all  they  could  do  did  not  make  him  get  well, 
He  sounded  his  Ms  and  his  Ns  like  an  L. 

A  shocking  bad  cough     At  last  took  him  off, 
And  Mister  Lagardie,  her  former  young  beau, 
Came  a-courting  again  to  the  Widow  Modeau. 

Mister  Lagardie,  to  gain  him  edai. 
Had  cut  the  Cook's  shop  and  followed  the  law : 
And  when  Monsieur  Modeau  set  out  on  his  journey, 
Was  an  Articled  Clerk  to  a  Special  Attorney. 

He  gave  her  a  call     On  the  day  of  a  ball, 
To  which  she'd  invited  the  court,  camp,  and  all ; 

But  "poor  dear  Lagardie"     Again  was  too  tardy, 
For  a  Marshal  of  France      Had  just  asked  her  to  dance ; 
In  a  twinkling,  the  ci-devant  Madame  Modeau 
Was  wife  of  the  Marshal  Lord  Marquis  Dinot. 

Mister  Lagardie  was  shocked  at  the  news, 
And  went  and  enlisted  at  once  in  the  Blues. 


MARIE  MIGNOT.  575 

The  Marquis  Dinot     Felt  a  little  so-so — 
Took  physic,  grew  worse,  and  had  notice  to  go — 
He  died,  and  was  shelved,  and  his  Lady  so  gay 
Smiled  again  on  Lagardie,  now  placed  on  full  pay, 
A  Swedish  Field-Marshal  with  a  guinea  a  day ; 

When  an  old  Ex- King     Just  showed  her  the  ring : 
To  be  Queen,  she  conceived,  was  a  very  fine  thing  ; 

But  the  King  turned  a  Monk,     And  Lagardie  got  drunk, 
And  said  to  the  Lady,  with  a  deal  of  ill  breeding, 
"  You  may  go  to  the  devil  and  I'll  go  to  Sweden." 

Thus  between  the  two  stools.     Like  some  other  fools. 

Her  Ladyship  found     Herself  plump  on  the  ground ; 
So  she  cried,  and  she  stamped,  and  she  sent  for  a  hack, 
And  she  drove  to  a  convent,  and  never  came  back. 


MORAL. 

Wives,  Maidens,  and  Widows,  attend  to  my  lay — 
If  a  fine  moral  lesson  you'd  draw  from  a  play, 

To  the  Hay  market  go,     And  see  Marie  Mignot : 
Miss  Kelly  plays  Marie,  and  Williams  Modeau  ; 

Mrs.  Glover  and  Vining     Are  really  quite  shiniug, 

And  though  Thompson  for  a  Marquis 

Has  almost  too  much  carcass, 

Yet  it's  not  fair  to  pass  him  or 

John  Cooper's  Cassimir, 

And  the  piece  would  be  barren 

Without  Mr.  Farren ; 
No  matter,  go  there,  and  they'll  teach  you  the  guilt 
Of  coquetting  and  ogliug,  and  playing  the  jilt : 
Such  folks  gallop  awhile,  but  at  last  they  get  spilt. 

Had  Molly  Mignot     Behaved  comme  ilfaut, 
Nor  married  the  Lawyer  nor  Marquis  Dinot, 
She  had  ne'er  been  a  nun,  whose  fare  very  hard  is, 
But  the  mother  of  half  a  score  little  Lagardies. 


576  THE  TRUANTS. 


€f)c  truants;. 

THREE  little  Demons  have  broken  loose 
From  the  National  School  below ! 
They  are  resolved  to  play  truant  to-day. 
Their  primer  and  slate  they  have  cast  away, 
And  away,  away,  they  go ! 
"  Hey,  boys !  hey,  boys !  up  go  we  I 
Who  so  merry  as  we  three  ?" 

The  reek  of  that  most  infernal  pit, 
Where  sinful  souls  are  stewing, 
Rises  so  black,  that  in  viewing  it, 
A  thousand  to  one  but  you'd  ask  with  surprise. 
As  its  murky  columns  met  your  eyes, 

"  Pray,  is  Old  Nick  a-brewing  ?" 
Thither  these  three  little  Devils  repair. 
And  mount  by  steam  to  the  uppermost  air. 
They  have  got  hold  of  a  wandering  star 
That  happened  to  come  within  hail. 
Oh  swiftly  they  glide !     As  they  merrily  ride 

All  a-cock-stride    Of  that  Comet's  tail. 
Oh  the  pranks !     Oh  the  pranks ! 
The  merry  pranks,  the  mad  pranks 
These  wicked  urchins  play ! 
They  kissed  the  Virgin  and  filled  her  with  dread. 
They  popped  the  Scorpion  into  her  bed  ; 
They  broke  the  pitcher  of  poor  Aquarius, 
They  stole  the  arrows  of  Sagittarius, 
And  they  skimmed  the  Milky  Way. 
They  filled  the  Scales  with  sulphur  full, 
They  hallooed  the  Dog-Star  on  at  the  Bidl, 
And  pleased  themselves  with  the  noise. 

They  set  the  Lion     On  poor  Orion  ; 

They  shaved  all  the  hair     Off  the  Lesser  Bear  ! 

They  kicked  the  shins     Of  the  Gemini  Twins — 
Those  heavenly  Siamese  Boys ! — 


THE  TRUANTS.  577 

Never  was  such  confusion  and  wrack 
As  they  produced  in  the  Zodiac ! — 

"Huzza!  Huzza!  Away!  Away! 
Let  us  go  down  to  the  earth  and  play ! 

Now  we  go  up,  up,  up,    Now  we  go  down,  down,  down, 

Now  we  go  backwards  and  forwards, 

Now  we  go  round,  round,  round !" 
Thus  they  gambol,  and  scramble,  and  tear. 
Till  at  last  they  arrive  at  the  nethermost  air. 

And  pray  now  what  were  these  Devilets  called  ? 
These  three  little  Fiends  so  gay ! 

One  was  Gob  !    Another  was  Moh  ! 
The  last  and  the  least  was  young  Chittabob  ! 
Queer  little  devils  were  they ! 

Cob  was  the  strongest.     Mob  was  the  wrongest, 
Chittahob's  tail  was  the  finest  and  longest ! 
Three  more  frolicsome  Imps,  I  ween, 
Beelzebub's  self  hath  seldom  seen. 

Over  Mountain,  over  Fell,     Glassy  Fountain,  mossy  Dell, 

Rocky  Island,  barren  Strand,     Over  Ocean,  over  Land ; 
With  frisk  and  bound,  and  squeaks  and  squalls, 
Heels  over  head,  and  head  over  heels ; 
With  curlings  and  twistings,  and  twirls  and  wheeleries, 
Down  they  drop  at  the  gate  of  the  Tuileries. 

Courtiers  were  bowing  and  making  legs. 
While  Charley  le  Eoi  was  bolting  eggs : 

"Mob"  says  Cob,     ''Chittabob,"  says  Mob, 
"  Come  here,  you  young  Devil,  weWe  in  for  a  job." 

Up  jumps  Cob  to  the  Monarch's  ear, 

"  Charley,  my  jolly  boy,  never  fear ; 

If  you  mind  all  their  jaw    About  Charter  and  Law, 
You  might  just  as  well  still  be  the  Count  d'Artois  ! 

No  such  thing.     Show  'em  you're  King, 
Tip  'em  an  Ordinance,  that's  the  thing !" 

Charley  dined,     Took  his  pen  and  signed  ; 
Then  Mob  kicked  over  his  throne  from  behind ! 
37 


578  THE   TRUANTS. 

"  Huzza !  Huzza !  we  may  scamper  now ! 
For  here  we've  kicked  up  a  jolly  good  row !" 

"  Over  the  water  and  over  the  Sea, 

And  over  the  water  with  Charlie ;" 
Now  they  came  skipping  and  grinning  with  glee. 
Not  pausing  to  chaff  or  to  parley. 
Over,  over.     On  to  Dover ; 
On  fun  intent,     All  through  Kent 
These  mischievous  devils  so  merrily  went 

Over  hill  and  over  dale. 

Sunken  hollow,  lofty  ridge, 

Frowning  cliff,  and  smiling  vale, 

Down  to  the  foot  of  Westminster  Bridge. 

"  Hollo,"  says  Cob,    "  There's  the  Duke  and  Sir  Bob  !" 
After  'em,  Chittaboh,  after  'em,  Moh" 
Mob  flung  gravel  and  Chittabob  pebbles, 
His  Grace  c 'd  them  both  for  a  couple  of  rebels : 

His  feelings  were  hurt     By  the  stones  and  the  dirt — 

In  went  he.     In  an  ecstacy. 
And  blew  up  the  nobles  of  high  degree. 

"  Mr.  Brougham,  Mr,  Hume,     May  fret  and  may  fume — 
And  so  may  all  you  whom  I  see  in  this  room ; 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  come  calm,  come  storm — 
I'll  see  you  all — blessed — ere  I  give  you  reform !" 

"  Bravo !"  says  Chittabob,  "  that's  your  sort ! 
Come  along,  schoolfellows,  here's  more  sport. 

Look  there !  look  there '     There's  the  great  Lord  May'r, 
With  the  gravest  of  Deputies  close  to  his  chair ; 

With  Hobler,  his  Clerk  !     Just  the  thing  for  a  lark; 
Huzza !  huzza !  boys,  follow  me  now ; 
Here  we  may  kick  up  another  good  row." 

Here  they  are.     Swift  as  a  star 
They  shoot  in  mid-air,  over  Temple  Bar ! 

Tom  Macaulay  beheld  the  flight 
Of  these  three  little  dusky  sons  of  night. 


THE  TRUANTS.  ^       •  679 

And  his  heart  swelled  with  joy  and  elation — 

"  Oh,  see !"  quoth  he,     "  Those  Niggerlings  three, 

Who  have  just  got  emancipation  /" 

Lord  Key  took  fright :     At  the  very  first  sight. 

The  whole  Court  of  Aldermen  wheeled  to  the  right ; 

Some  ran  from  Ckittabob — more  from  Mob, 

The  great  locum  tenens  jumped  up  upon  Cob, 
Who  roared  and  ran    With  the  Alderman 

To  the  Home  Office,  pick-a-back — catch  'em  who  can ! 

"  Stay  at  home — here's  a  plot,     And  I  can't  tell  you  what. 
If  you  don't  I'll  be  shot    But  you'll  all  go  to  pot." 

Ah,  little  he  weened,  while  the  ground  he  thus  ran  over, 

'Twas  a  Cob  he  bestrode — not  his  white  horse  from  Hanover. 


Back  they  came  galloping  through  the  Strand, 
When  Joseph  Lancaster,  stick  in  hand. 
Popped  up  his  head  before  'em. 

Well  we  know    That  honest  old  Joe 
Is  a  sort  of  High  Master  down  below, 
And  teaches  the  Imps  decorum. 
Satan  had  started  him  off  in  a  crack. 
To  flog  these  three  little  runaways  back. 


Fear  each  assails ;    Every  one  quails ; 
"Oh  dear!  how  he'll  tickle  our  little  black  tails! 

Have  done,  have  done,     Here's  that  son  of  a  gun. 
Old  Joe,  come  after  us, — run,  boys,  run." 

Off  ran  Cob,    Off  ran  Mob, 
And  off  in  a  fright  ran  young  Chittaboh  ; 
Joe  caught  Chittabob  just  by  the  tail. 

And  Cob  by  his  crumpled  horn ; 
Bitterly  then  did  these  Imps  bewail 

That  ever  they  were  born ! 
Mob  got  away,     But  none  to  this  day 
Know  exactly  whither  he  went ; 
Some  say  he's  been  seen  about  Blackfriars  Bridge, 
And  some  say  he's  down  in  Kent. 


580  •  THE  POPLAR. 

But  where'er  he  may  roam, 

He  has  not  ventured  home 

Since  the  day  the  three  took  wing, 
And  many  suppose 
He  has  changed  his  clothes, 

And  now  goes  by  the  name  of  "  Swing. 


W^t  i^oplar. 


AY,  here  stands  the  Poplar,  so  tall  and  so  stately, 
On  whose  tender  rind — 'twas  a  little  one  then- 
We  carved  her  initials ;  though  not  very  lately — 
We  think  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  ten. 


Yes,  here  is  the  G  which  proclaimed  Georgiana ; 

Our  heart's  empress  then ;  see,  'tis  grown  all  askew ; 
And  it's  not  without  grief  we  perforce  entertain  a 

Conviction,  it  now  looks  much  more  like  a  Q. 


This  should  be  the  great  D  too,  that  once  stood  for  Dobbin, 

Her  loved  patronymic — ah !  can  it  be  so  ? 
Its  once  fair  proportions  time,  too,  has  been  robbing ; 

A  D  ?— we'll  be  Deed  if  it  isn't  an  O ! 


Alas !  how  the  soul  sentimental  it  vexes, 

That  thus  on  our  labors  stern  Chronos  should  frown, 
Should  change  our  soft  liquids  to  izzards  and  Xes, 

And  turn  true-love's  alphabet  all  upside  down. 


Mr  LETTERS.  »  581 

"  Litera  scriptera  manet."— OW  Saw. 

ANOTHER  mizzling,  drizzling  day ! 
Of  clearing  up  there's  no  appearance ; 
So  I'll  sit  down  without  delay, 

And  here,  at  least,  I'll  make  a  clearance ! 

Oh,  ne'er  "  on  such  a  day  as  this  " 

Would  Dido  with  her  woes  oppressM 
Have  wooed  .^neas  back  to  bliss. 

Or  Troilus  gone  to  hunt  for  Cressid ! 

No,  they'd  have  stayed  at  home,  like  me, 
And  popped  their  toes  upon  the  fender,     . 

And  drank  a  quiet  cup  of  tea : — 

On  days  like  this  one  can't  be  tender. 

So,  Molly,  draw  that  basket  nigher, 

And  put  my  desk  upon  the  table — 
Bring  that  Portfolio — stir  the  fire — 

Now  off  as  fast  as  you  are  able ! 

First,  here's  a  card  from  Mrs.  Grimes, 

"A  ball !" — she  knows  that  I'm  no  dancer — 

That  woman's  asked  me  fifty  times, 
And  yet  I  never  send  an  answer. 

"Dear  Jack, — 

Just  lend  me  twenty  pounds 
Till  Monday  next,  when  I'll  return  it. 
Yours  truly, 

Henry  Gibbs." 
Why,  Z— ds  1 
I've  seen  the  man  but  twice — here,  burn  it. 


682  MY  LETTERS. 

One  from  my  Cousin  Sophy  Daw — 
Full  of  Aunt  Margery's  distresses ; 

"  The  Cat  has  kittened  in  '  the  draw,' 
And  ruined  two  bran-new  silk  dresses." 


From  Sam,  "  The  Chancellor's  motto," — nay, 
Confound  his  puHs,  he  knows  I  hate  'em. 

"  Pro  Rege,  Lege,  Grege," — Ay, 

"  For  King  read  Mob !"     Brougham's  old  erratum. 

From  Seraphina  Price — "At  two" — 

"  Till  then  I  can't,  my  dearest  John,  stir ;" 

Two  more  because  I  did  not  go, 

Beginning  "  Wretch  "  and  "  Faithless  Monster !" 

"Dear  Sir, — 

This  morning,  Mrs.  P- 


Who's  doing  quite  as  well  as  may  be, 
Presented  me  at  half-past  three. 
Precisely,  with  another  baby. 


"  We'll  name  it  John,  and  know  with  pleasure 
You'll  stand  " — Five  guineas  more,  confound  it  !- 

I  wish  they'd  call  it  Nebuchadnezzar, 

Or  thrown  it  in  the  Thames  and  drowned  it. 


What  have  we  next  ?    A  civil  Dun : 

"  John  Brown  would  take  it  as  a  favor" — 

Another,  and  a  surlier  one, 

"  I  can't  put  up  with  dch  behavior. 

"  Bill  so  long  standing,"^-"  quite  tired  out,"— 
"  Must  sit  down  to  insist  on  payment," 

"  Called  ten  times," — Here's  a  fuss  about 
A  few  coats,  waistcoats,  and  small  raiment ! 


MY  LETTERS.  683 

For  once  I'll  send  an  answer,  and  in- 
form Mr.  Snip  he  needn't  "  call  "  so  ; 

But  when  his  bill's  as  "  tired  of  standing " 
As  he  is,  beg  'twill  "  sit  down  also." 

This  from  my  rich  old  Uncle  Ned, 

Thanking  me  for  my  annual  present ; 
And  saying  he  last  Tuesday  wed 

His  cook-maid,  Molly — vastly  pleasant  I 

An  ill-spelt  note  from  Tom  at  school, 

Begging  I'll  let  him  learn  the  fiddle ; 
Another  from  that  precious  fool, 

Miss  Pyefinch,  with  a  stupid  riddle. 

"  D'ye  give  it  up  ?"     Indeed  I  do ! 

Confound  these  antiquated  minxes ! 
I  won't  play  ''Billy  Black"  to  a  "Blue," 

Or  CEdipus  to  such  old  sphinxes. 

A  note  sent  up  from  Kent  to  show  me, 

Left  with  my  bailiff,  Peter  King ; 
*'  I'll  burn  them  precious  stacks  down,  blow  me ! 

"  Yours  most  sincerely, 

"Captain  Swing." 

Four  begging  letters  with  petitions, 

One  from  my  sister  Jane,  to  pray 
I'll  "  execute  a  few  commissions  " 

In  Bond  Street,  "  when  I  go  tha^  way. 

"And  buy  at  Pearsal's  in  the  City 

Twelve  skeins  of  silk  for  netting  purses ; 
Color  no  matter,  so  it's  pretty ; — 

Two  hundred  pens  " — two  hundred  curses  1 

From  Mistress  Jones  :  "  My  little  Billy 
Goes  up  his  schooling  to  begin ; 


584  M¥  LETTERS. 

Will  you  just  step  to  Piccadilly, 

Aud  meet  him  when  the  coach  comes  in  ? 


"  And  then,  perhaps,  you  will  as  well  see 
The  poor  dear  fellow  safe  to  school 

At  Dr.  Smith's  in  Little  Chelsea !" 
Heaven  send  he  flog  the  little  fool ! 

From  Lady  Snooks :  "  Dear  Sir,  you  know 
You  promised  me  last  week  a  Rebus ; 

A  something  smart  and  apropos, 

For  my  new  Album !" — Aid  me,  Phoebus ! 

"  My  first  is  followed  by  my  second  ; 

Yet  should  my  first  my  second  see, 
A  dire  mishap  it  would  be  reckoned. 

And  sadly  shocked  my  first  would  be. 

"  Were  I  but  what  my  whole  implies, 
And  passed  by  chance  across  your  portal. 

You'd  cry,  *  Can  I  believe  my  eyes  ? 
I  never  saw  so  queer  a  mortal !' 

"  For  then  my  head  would  not  be  on, 
My  arms  their  shoulders  must  abandon ; 

My  very  body  would  be  gone, 

I  should  not  have  a  leg  to  stand  on." 

Come,  that's  despatched — what  follows  ? — Stay, 
"  Reform  demanded  by  the  nation  " — 

"  Vote  for  Tagrag  and  Bobtail !"     Ay, 
By  Jove,  a  blessed  Reformation  ! 

Jack,  clap  the  saddle  upon  Rose — 
Or,  no ! — the  filly — she's  the  fleeter ; 

The  devil  take  the  rain — here  goes, 
I'm  ofl*— a  plumper  for  Sir  Peter ! 


THE   CONFESSION.  585 

(IMITATED    FROM   MAETIAL.) 

A  FRIEND  I  met  some  half  hour  since — 
"  Good-morrow,  Jack  /"  quoth  I  ; 
The  new-made  Knight,  like  any  Prince, 

Frowned,  nodded,  and  passed  by ; 
When  up  came  Jem — "  Sir  John,  your  Slave  !" 

"  Ah,  James ;  we  dine  at  eight — 
Fail  not — (low  bows  the  supple  knave) 

Don't  make  my  lady  wait." 
The  King  can  do  no  wrong  ?    As  I'm  a  sinner, 
He's  spoilt  an  honest  tradesman  and  my  dinner. 


THERE'S  somewhat  on  my  breast,  father, 
There's  somewhat  on  my  breast ! 
The  livelong  day  I  sigh,  father. 

And  at  night  I  cannot  rest. 

I  cannot  take  my  rest,  father. 

Though  I  would  fain  do  so ; 

A  weary  weight  oppresseth  me — 

This  weary  weight  of  woe ! 

'Tis  not  the  lack  of  gold,  father. 

Nor  want  of  worldly  gear ; 
My  lands  are  broad,  and  fair  to  see, 

My  friends  are  kind  and  dear. 
My  kin  are  leal  and  true,  father, 

They  mourn  to  see  my  grief; 
But  oh !  'tis  not  a  kinsman's  hand 

Can  give  my  heart  relief! 


586  SONG. 

'Tis  not  tliat  Janet's  false,  father, 

'Tis  not  that  she's  unkind  ; 
Tho'  busy  flatterers  swarm  around, 

I  know  her  constant  mind. 
'Tis  not  her  coldness,  father, 

That  chills  my  laboring  breast ; 
It's  that  confounded  cucumber 

I've  eat  and  can't  digest. 


S^Jng. 


THERE  sits  a  bird  on  yonder  tree, 
More  fond  than  Cushat  Dove ; 
There  sits  a  bird  on  yonder  tree. 

And  sings  to  me  of  love. 
Oh !  stoop  thee  from  thine  eyrie  down 
And  nestle  thee  near  my  heart. 

For  the  moments  fly,     And  the  hour  is  nigh 
When  thou  and  I  must  part, 

My  love  1 
When  thou  and  I  must  part. 

II. 

In  yonder  covert  lurks  a  Fawn, 

The  pride  of  the  sylvan  scene ; 
In  yonder  covert  lurks  a  Fawn, 

And  I  am  his  only  queen ; 
Oh !  bound  from  thy  secret  lair. 

For  the  sun  is  below  the  west ; 
No  mortal  eye    May  our  meeting  spy, 
For  all  are  closed  in  rest. 

My  love ! 
Each  eye  is  closed  in  rest. 


EPIGRAM.  687 

III. 

Oh !  sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn, 

When  the  sun's  first  beams  appear ; 
Oh !  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  strain, 

When  it  dies  on  the  list'ning  ear ; 
And  sweet  the  soft  voice  which  speaks 

The  Wanderer's  welcome  home ; 

But  sweeter  far    By  yon  pale  mild  star 
With  our  true  Love  thus  to  roam, 

My  dear ! 
With  our  own  true  Love  to  roam ! 


BRAVE  L ,  so  says  a  knight  of  the  pen, 
"  Has  exposed  himself  much  at  the  head  of  his  men ; 
As  his  men  ran  away  without  waiting  to  fight, 
To  expose  himself  there's  to  be  first  in  the  flight. 
Had  it  not  been  as  well,  when  he  saw  his  men  quail, 
To  have  stayed  and  exposed  himself  more  at  their  tail  ? 
Or  say,  is  it  fair,  in  this  noblest  of  quarrels, 
To  sufier  the  chief  to  engross  all  the  laurels  ? 
No !  his  men,  so  the  muse  to  all  Europe  shall  sing. 
Have  exposed  themselves  fully  as  much  as  their  king. 


iBpigratn. 

EHEU  FUGACES. 

WHAT  Horace  says  is, 
Eheu  fugaces 
Anni  lahuntur,  Fostume,  Postume  ! 
Years  glide  away,  and  are  lost  to  me,  lost  to  me ! 
Now,  when  the  folks  in  the  dance  sport  their  merry  toes, 
Taglionis  and  Ellslers,  Duvernays  and  Ceritos, 
Sighing  I  murmur,  "  0  mihi  proeteritos  !" 


588  AS  I  LAVE  A-THYNKYNGE. 

TTIIS  sweet  to  think  the  pure  ethereal  being, 

-i-      Whose  mortal  form  reposes  with  the  dead. 
Still  hovers  round  unseen,  yet  not  unseeing, 
Benignly  smiling  o'er  the  mourner's  bed ! 

She  comes  in  dreams,  a  thing  of  light  and  lightness, 
I  hear  her  voice  in  still,  small  accents  tell 

Of  realms  of  bliss,  and  never-fading  brightness. 
Where  those  who  loved  on  earth  together  dwell. 

Ah !  yet  a  while,  blest  shade,  thy  flight  delaying, 
The  kindred  soul  with  mystic  converse  cheer ; 

To  her  rapt  gaze  in  visions  bland  displaying 
The  unearthly  glories  of  thy  happier  sphere ! 

Yet,  yet  remain !  till  freed  like  thee,  delighted. 
She  spurns  the  thralldom  of  encumbering  clay ; 

Then,  as  on  earth,  in  tend'rest  love  united. 
Together  seek  the  realms  of  endless  day ! 


%%  $  lage  a::^f)8tifeBnge. 

THE  LAST  LINES  OF  THOMAS  INGOLDSBY. 

AS  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Merrie  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  spraye; 
There  came  a  noble  Knighte, 
With  his  hauberke  shynynge  brighte, 
And  his  gallant  heart  was  lighte, 
Free  and  gaye : 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  he  rode  upon  his  waye. 


AS  I  LATE  A-TIIYNKYNOB.  5^0 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Sadly  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  tree  I 

There  seemed  a  crimson  plain, 

Where  a  gallant  Knighte  laye  slayne, 

And  a  steed  with  broken  rein 
Ran  free, 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  most  pitiful  to  see ! 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Merrie  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  boughe ; 

A  lovely  Mayde  came  bye. 

And  a  gentil  youth  was  nyghe. 

And  he  breathed  many  a  sighe 
And  a  vowe ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  her  hearte  was  gladsome  now. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Sadly  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  thorne ; 

No  more  a  youth  was  there, 

But  a  ]\Iaiden  rent  her  haire, 

And  cried  in  sad  despaire, 
"  That  I  was  borne !" 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  she  perished  forlorne. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Sweetly  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  briar ; 

There  came  a  lovely  Childe, 

And  his  face  was  meek  and  mild, 

Yet  joyously  he  smiled 
On  his  sire ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a  Cherub  mote  admire. 

But  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
And  sadly  sang  the  Birde  as  it  perched  upon  a  bier : 

That  joyous  smile  was  gone. 

And  the  face  was  white  and  wan, 

As  the  downe  upon  the  Swan 
Doth  appear, 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge — oh !  bitter  flowed  the  tear ! 


590  AS  I  LAYE  A-THYNKYNOE. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  the  golden  sun  was  sinking, 
O  merrie  sang  that  Birde  as  it  glittered  on  her  breast 
With  a  thousand  gorgeous  dyes, 
While,  soaring  to  the  skies, 
'Mid  the  stars  she  seemed  to  rise,  * 

As  to  her  nest  ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  her  meaning  was  exprest : — 
"  Follow,  follow  me  away, 
It  boots  not  to  delay," — 
'Twas  so  she  seemed  to  saye, 
"Here  is  rest!" 

T.  I. 


Jt 


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